Shackled
by Angel of Shadow and Snow
Summary: She knows he wants nothing more than to kill her, so why hasn't he done it yet? A young archaeologist who wants nothing more than to present the exhibit that will make her career, instead finds herself the unwitting focus of obsession for a heartless, cruel and sadistic, centuries-old monster. Eventually explicit.
1. I

_Hungry.  
So hungry.  
How long had it been? One hundred, perhaps two hundred, years since his last good meal? He couldn't even remember when he had last tasted something satisfying. _

"Edmund! Edmund, have you seen this? Come here, quickly!"  
"Wait a minute, Cass! _Wait!_ For Christ's sake, this forest is not the easiest of places to carry a fucking tripod through!"  
She rolled her eyes. Fifteen minutes ago, she had told him that the tripod was in fact, collapsible and would easily fit in his rucksack.  
Typical Edmund.  
He'd rather stumble across lattices of twisted ivy, strangled foliage and the corpses of fallen trees, cradling three poles of jutting metal-substitute than actually listen to a piece of her advice.

_Now he was cold, breaking…unable to feel anything but that same hunger pain.  
His skin was numb. Bound with gripping chains of wrought iron- half rusted and welded into the crevices of his crumbling body. Those damn clerics who had found him.  
Those who had imprisoned him here. Unable to destroy him but obliged by their cause to prevent him from running free.  
What he would he not give to have them as his next meal? _

Cassidy Albright could not take her eyes from her find, her fingers frantically and tirelessly working to peel threads of ivy from its stunningly carved form- delicate enough not to disturb the already-crumbling stone.  
It was _perfect_.  
"Ok, Cass," Edmund Potter panted, finally having caught up with her and capable of relieving his aching arms by dumping the tripod on the forest floor. "What's so bloody amazing that I had to run-…_shit_…what's that?"  
"What does it look like, Ed? Quickly! Help me!"  
He immediately ran to her side, following suit and tearing away the creeping vines from the intricate folds of grey.  
"What's it _doing_ here? This place doesn't seem like the right place to find-…"  
"Who knows?" Cassidy laughed aloud, her eyes practically brimming with barely contained excitement. "Who cares? What matters is that it's here and we've found it!"

_Since his exile, he had been condemned to leave their group.  
He had been left alone, out in the open, his body locked and decaying.  
Then the clerics had found him.  
He was slowly starving to death and he could feel it. There was only so long he could go, reduced to the humility of feeding off of birds and animals, foolish enough to take rest on his arms and to seek shelter at his feet.  
_

"It must be over a thousand years old," marvelled Edmund aloud, putting away his carbon-dating kit. "If not more."  
"It's beautiful," his companion breathed, pulling the last of the tendrils from one of its stalwart limbs. Her brow furrowed when she noticed the chains embedded into its flint-skin surface. She wrapped her fingers around the metal links and ran them slowly downward, finding their source: plunged deep into the ground below.  
Cassidy grunted, giving it several pulls and having nothing to show for her efforts other than raw red palms, she turned to her associate- finally managing to tear her eyes from the statue. "You'd better call Dr Hewitt. Let him know that we're here. We'll need to call a team too…to move the statue…"

_His chains prevented him from moving any further into the forest. He had torn at the chains from the moment his captors had turned their backs. Though at first he had made progress, he soon became too weak to struggle without painfully cracking his own arms._

"I'll get on to that now, Cass," Edmund murmured, pulling out his walkie-talkie cocking an eyebrow at the manner in which the stone figure was fettered. "Huh, that's weird. Who'd want to chain a statue up like that? It's not like it's going to go anywhere."  
Cassidy waved a hand, transfixed by their latest find once more. "To keep it upright? Stop it from being stolen? As part of a ritual? There are endless possibilities. Dr Hewitt will probably know something or other."  
Hewitt's assistant shrugged, turning away to make the call and walking over to the other side of the clearing.

Hewitt's apprentice remained thoroughly beguiled by what they had just come upon. She stooped to scrape excess earth from the flawlessly carved folds of the figure's garment, revealing more of the smooth, pearl-grey stone. "Amazing," she breathed. "Simply amazing."

_He had tried screeching for help before- but to little avail.  
The only of his kind who would hear him were the ones that had condemned him to exile in the first place.  
Isolated and famished, he had waited. Freezing. Cold. Emaciated with hunger.  
His kind were known for and almost unrivalled in their levels of patience.  
His desperation had grown over the years, just as the creeping ivy that bound his form or the rust that lined his shackles had. _

_Finally his waiting was over. _

Cassidy stood up slowly, wiping the loose dirt from the forearm of the statue, raised to cover its eyes in some kind of mourning gesture.

_The human had wandered willingly into his clearing. No human had been in this part of the woods for years. He would never forget the look in her eyes when she saw him first.  
_

Its eyes were hidden from her view, completely masked by its broad but lithe forearm. She tilted her head, wondering if the sculptor had actually given his or her creation any kind of eyes at all. If it had them, she decided that she wanted to see them.

_As all creatures did when they looked upon his kind, he watched her eyes widen, her body shudder and heard her breath catch in her throat in those first few delicious moments of fear. _

It must have been six feet tall- sculpted exactly to the scale of a grown man. Cassidy placed a hand on one of its sculpted shoulders, (telling herself that she was just looking for cracks in the arm joints caused by the chains), running it slowly downward.  
She eventually came to trace the marbled plumage of the figure's wings.

_But then she had stopped, suddenly smiling, her eyes alight with glee as she approached him.  
Wonder and curiosity laced each touch she set upon his body.  
He snarled internally, willing her to look away for even a second so that he could take her.  
But her eyes never left him, completely unblinking.  
It was when she called for another human and announced the arrival of more, that greed awoke within him and began to plant the seeds of patience. _

Not looking away from the statue's face, Cassidy brought her second hand to cup its stone visage- its strong-looking jaw, smooth slate cheek and pronounced chin, cool against her palm.  
"You're flawless," she dared herself to whisper again. "Stunning."  
The apprentice archaeologist smiled again, delighted as her thumb stroked the statue's cheek.  
"You and I," she proclaimed. "Are going to do wonderful things together."

_The angel smirked internally.  
It would not be long now. _

* * *

There it was.  
Standing at great height, chains ripped from its arms and the rises of its gracefully curved, stone-feathered wings almost grazing the ceiling of the London Museum of History's smallest preparation room- stood a statue of an angel.  
Dr Ernst Hewitt inspected it with awe.

"Cassidy, Edmund…this truly is an exceptional find for a first dig," he praised, circling the statue. "It truly is a stunning piece." He looked to his assistant and apprentice again, over the rim of his spectacles. "Where exactly did you find it again?"

Cassidy opened her mouth to tell him specifically where _she_ had found it but Edmund cut across her. "In the third quarter, in a clearing just North of the dig site," he orated, grinning from ear to ear. "Mapped and marked the location myself. It was hard enough to get the thing out of the ground, let alone down the mountain side." He shrugged, false-modesty radiating from either side of his perfectly pressed suit-jacket. "The men couldn't tear the statue from where it was chained in the ground; they thought it might have somehow been bound into the bedrock. So I co-ordinated a careful operation in which we had the chains pulled from its arms. As you can see, the arms are still intact so I'd say our little operation was quite the success. I did the managing for that but it was a great team effort overall, huh Cass?"

Cassidy nodded slowly but suddenly felt the strong urge to give the tagged urn at her feet a good, hard kick. It was so like Edmund to do this to her. His status as Hewitt's apprentice gave his words seniority over hers. As always, if he did something, it was a solo deal whereas if she did something, it was only part of a "team-effort.""

Hewitt was nodding again, absorbing his assistant's words but his voice remained satisfyingly toneless, much to Cassidy's joy. "Good work, Potter. Standard dig-out then, yes?"  
He turned to his apprentice. "You did the report and paperwork, Albright?"

She nodded. "Yes, Dr Hewitt."  
"You've inspected the statue thoroughly then?"  
"Yes, Dr Hewitt."

He clapped his hands, taking a step back and beckoning for her to step forward.  
"Well then. I wouldn't be a decent teacher of archaeology at all if I did not give you an adequate chance to put all that theory you've been studying to the test. What are you readings of the statue, Albright? Its background, for instance."

Edmund's lip twitched, his mouth soured by Hewitt's focus on his subordinate but he remained as silent as the angel that she now gingerly approached.

"Well, its background is ambiguous at best. The carbon-dating tests performed on the biological matter in the crevices in the angel's back indicate that the statue itself could be well over one thousand years old." Cassidy's brow furrowed slightly. "That places it before the Renaissance period- of which the statue's form is most reminiscent- and also the Romanesque and Gothic periods. Tests we performed on the metal residue from the chains indicate that the chain-link is formed from Medieval iron. Despite the obvious shortcomings in hypothesis, this indicates that the chains were attached to the statue long after it was first sculpted. Once again, however, the statue's style is that of the Renaissance period and is a far cry from the Gothic style that pervaded the Middle Ages…"

Hewitt absent-mindedly chewed on the end of his pencil, scanning his clipboard to confirm the findings as he murmured "The style is almost Da Vincian. The carving and modelling is near flawless." He looked up. "What of the material the statue is made from?"  
Cassidy slowly ran a hand along the arm of the statue. "The site geologists weren't sure. They said that it had a marble-like surface but that the stone beneath was far too strong and hard-wearing to be marble of any kind. The results have been sent back to be reviewed."  
"Potter, make sure that the results of the carbon dating are reviewed and checked too. There's obviously a small flaw in the dating. Probably an easy one to correct. Albright, what else of the statue? What do you make of its physical design?"

Cassidy lifted her hand from the statue's stone tricep and bit her lip before continuing. "Once again, Dr Hewitt, it's…ambiguous. The statue is obviously intended to resemble a seraph or angel of Christian conception…the wings are enough of an indication of that. However, the toga that it wears is distinctly B.C.E Grecian. The ethnicity of the statue is difficult to place and we've determined that it is not a Greek god as the only candidates, Eros and Apollo, have never been depicted in this manner before." She traced the collar of the toga before going on. "As for its usage, due to its evident neglect, bindings and…posture, we've speculated that he make have been a grave marker." She looked back over her shoulder at Hewitt. "Because he looks like he's mourning, covering his eyes to weep…"

Hewitt cocked an eyebrow. "_He_?"  
Cassidy felt her face heat up a little. "Well, y-yes. The statue is very obviously male. I mean, it lacks any kind of indication of female persuasion…broad shoulders, defined jaw, thin-line hips, a lack of, uh, mammary glands…"

From the other side of the room, Edmund coughed and Cassidy was certain that it was to disguise a snort of laughter.  
Hewitt only smiled with mirth. "Very well, Albright." He looked to the report. "I'll be making _him_ your project. Edmund will have too much work with the new Triassic exhibit and I'll be in Scotland for the next month as of Friday. Are you alright to take this one on?"  
"Oh, yes, Dr Hewitt," Cassidy replied quickly, trying her hardest not to start smiling like a fool.

"_Woah!_" came a little cry from the doorway. "That's the biggest statue I ever sawed. Ever!"  
Cassidy turned around, only to see her favourite five-year old redhead ogling the angel, her older brother in her wake.

"Hi there, Abbie," she chuckled, walking over to give her their ritual high-five. "Yep. He's very big, isn't he? We found him on the dig this morning. He's going to be on display in the museum soon. Then you and all the others in the Lil'Diggers club can come and look at him whenever you want!" She ruffled Abbie's hair, causing her to squeal with glee. "But it looks like you've got a special preview, haven't you?"

"The perks of having a brother who works as a tour guide here," Leon Drake chortled from behind, his handsome face half-masked by his own silky mop of auburn hair. He let out a low whistle as he gave himself a miniature eye-tour of the angel. "Wow…so that's the new artefact. Can't wait to hear all about this one." He grinned to Cassidy, eyes glowing with admiration. "Awesome find, Cass."

"Thanks Leon," she smiled back, taking her place beside Edmund once more and desperately trying to prevent her face from reddening any further.  
_"Thanks Leon!" _Edmund mocked, elbowing her in the side.  
Cassidy carefully waited until Abbie, Hewitt and Leon all had their backs turned before sharply elbowing him back and sticking her tongue out at him.

"Are you coming home now, Cass?" Leon asked. "Oakside is on the route back to mine so Abbie and I could give you a lift back. It's a bit too dark to walk."  
Cassidy shook her head. "Thanks a bunch for the offer but by the looks of it, I'll be here until sunrise, dating the statue."

Abbie interjected with a giggle. _"Dating the statue?!_ You can't go on a date with a statue, silly Cassy!"  
The four adults laughed and Cassidy stooped to give the little girl a hug. "I mean I'll be figuring out how old the statue is. He's also still broken in places so I'll have to restore him. Remember how you learned about restoring in Lil'Diggers club?"

Abbie nodded, looking at the statue over Cassidy's shoulder.  
"Why don't you just ask him?"  
"Hm?"  
"The angel. Just ask him how old he is."  
Cassidy laughed again. "Abbie! You know statues can't talk."  
"Well, this one can move," Abbie proclaimed. "He moves when you're not looking."

Quickly and automatically, Hewitt, Leon, Edmund and Cassidy all looked over at the angel.  
No. It was in the same position as before. Still standing, one arm draped over its eyes.  
"No, I don't think it does, Abbie," Leon told her, chuckling as he took his little sister's hand. "Come on then, kiddo, let's head home then. Wave bye bye."  
Abbie shook hands with Hewitt and waved to Edmund and Cassidy and paused before waving at the statue too.

"He's kind of creepy. He's watching all the time."  
"Who is, Abbie?"  
"The angel."  
"Abbie, the angel is just a statue. Now come on, let's head home."

Moments after they left, Edmund was the first to break the silence between the three archaeologists as they trawled through paperwork. "So, Cass. Got a name for it yet?"

"Name for what?"  
"The statue, obviously. If it's your project, you'll have to give the exhibit some kind of name."  
Cassidy paused thoughtfully. "Well…it takes the form of an angel…and it appears as though it's weeping…so then maybe…"

"Yes?"

"The crying angel?"

Edmund shook his head. "That sounds clunky and stupid. Come up with a better name than that."  
Before Cassidy could retort, Hewitt spoke. "Potter, I need you to come with me to check this carbon dating again. There's something wrong with the sample that you took. The dates I'm getting go back much further than any era that could have produced that kind of artwork…"

His assistant nodded, heading out of the preparation room.  
"I'll be back later to help you with the final dating, Albright," Hewitt informed her. "But I'll have to leave you for an hour or so, first."  
"That's fine, Dr Hewitt."

"Oh, before I forget. Albright?"  
"Yes?"  
"There was a mistake on the report. In the description section."

"A mistake, Dr Hewitt?"

"Yes. You described the angel as having its left arm draped over its eyes." Hewitt pointed to the angel with the butt of his pencil. "As you can see, that is clearly its right arm it has over its eyes."

Cassidy blinked, certain she hadn't gotten that wrong before but shook her head, shrugging. "Oh. Sorry, Dr Hewitt…I'll correct that straightaway. My mind must have been somewhere else earlier."

"_Though I could've sworn,"_ she thought with a frown, examining the statue again. _"That it was the left." _

* * *

Night had long stolen over the museum.  
The security guards had begun their rounds and most of its locked hallways had already been plunged into blackness, the exhibits nothing more than strange silhouettes and outlines.

Dr Hewitt looked over Cassidy's shoulder, yawning slightly. "You're doing very well, Albright." The older man scratched his head, chuckling slightly. "I have no idea how on earth you manage to stay so alert, so late in the evening. Aren't you getting tired?"

The young woman shook her head, adding another coat of hardening resin to the angel's half-covered brow. "No, Doctor Hewitt," she replied with a smile, not taking her eyes from the glossy grey sheen that followed each stroke of her brush. "When you're in love with your work as I am, it's hard to tire of it."

Hewitt shook his head, still chortling slightly. "You remind me of a younger, prettier, more optimistic version of myself." He turned to file the paperwork away. "Such a pity about this darned dating. I shall have to take the results with me to Glasgow to see if Professor McIntosh can make head or tails of this. In the meantime, just tell the outfitters to leave the dating plaque blank and get the guides to contrive some spiel about how our enigmatic statue is currently being in the process of being dated."

Cassidy nodded, puckering her lips and lightly blowing on the angel's forehead to aid the drying of the resin.  
Hewitt lifted his head once more. "Just five more weeks and your apprenticeship here is over, isn't it, Albright? Have you considered accepting the offer from Dr Rosenstock? Being trained to become her assistant is quite the opportunity. It would also ultimately allow you to continue working here in London, even if the first year of training is in Ireland."

"I've thought about it, yes," she said slowly, dipping her brush once again and delicately lining the angel's hairline before starting on the intricate curves, depressions and lifts of each knuckle on his hand. "I…uh…I don't know yet. I'm rather busy at home at the moment. Leaving for Dublin for an entire year mightn't be a good move for me."

Hewitt's forehead creased, coughing slightly and putting down his pencil. The two had endured this conversation before.  
"I see," he said slowly after a few moments. "How is your mother doing nowadays, if you do not mind me asking?"  
Cassidy's stomach tightened and the paintbrush hovered over the line that it had just painted, her hand turning rigid and her teeth clenching. "Mum?" she echoed, trying her hardest to sound flippant. "She…she's far better than she was before. Still a little weak but she's sparky as ever."

A brief image of her mother, lying in bed and watching television flashed before her eyes like a broken frame from a silent film. An actor came out with a funny line on _Coronation Street _and her mother laughed melodically, her jocular, wrinkled face lighting up with each note. Suddenly her laughter dissolved into coughing. Horrible, hacking coughs, half-strangled by nets of the phlegm that coated Maria Albright's severely weekend windpipe.  
She looked up to her daughter, noticing her standing in the doorway for the first time. Trying desperately to draw her breath, she grinned at the child she had taken to the museum every Saturday and told her the story behind every painting, sculpture and dinosaur's bone.  
_"That's what I get for laughing at such awful jokes, huh, Cassy?"_

"Ah, that is good to hear," Hewitt murmured, starting to file the documents away. "And your father, Albright?"

"Fine," Cassidy said sharply. Maybe a little too sharply. "He's fine."  
The lie burned in her mouth but she swallowed back quickly, ignoring the feeling of repulsion that was bubbling in her throat.  
She felt Dr Hewitt's hand upon her shoulder, squeezing slightly before stroking the light wool of her sweater. "That's good to hear, Albright." The older man paused for a moment before saying. "If you ever feel you need to take some time off for any personal reason at all-…"  
Cassidy turned, forcing herself to smile. "Thank you, Dr Hewitt. I understand but I…I really feel like I need to keep working at the moment. Just to keep myself busy."

Hewitt returned the strained smile and nodded. "I see. Not a problem. I have always admired your professionalism, I must say. I'm just going to head down to the cataloguing room for a moment. Could you finish off that main report and fix the descriptive error?"

"Sure thing," Cassidy responded, sighing as her teacher left and leaning over the table to start writing up the new descriptive section. "Alright, alright…come on, no stressing about this. Right…right arm draped over the angel's eyes…"  
Just as she had hoped it would, her mind soon wandered away from her parents and back to her work. Specifically her beguiling angel statue.  
Did the statue have eyes at all? Had the artist carved them at all? It appeared so lifelike.  
Cassidy desperately wanted to know the name of the sculptor as she delicately pencilled "anonymous" into the section on the artist's information. She also very much wanted to know the name of the _model_.  
Despite the eeriness that seemed to radiate from the statue, it also radiated power, commanded reverence…and was truly gorgeous in appearance.

The preparation room was completely silent.  
She couldn't even hear the echoes of Dr Hewitt tapping around in the cataloguing room anymore.  
Cassidy felt an involuntary shiver run through her and what felt like a cold breeze drifted over her. She blinked, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck slowly standing erect and her shoulder muscles tensing and twitching.  
She suddenly felt something burning on the back of her neck.  
Eyes.  
A sudden, inexplicable paranoia washed over her.  
Someone was staring at her.  
Cassidy stood up straight, her entire body seizing.  
Someone standing in this very room was staring at her.

She whipped around suddenly, only to see that the room was empty save for herself and the angel statue- which was still standing exactly where it had always been.  
Cassidy's eyes locked on to the statue immediately, her heart still racing and her breath only just returning to her lungs. It was only when she heard the rattling of her bracelet against the wood of the table she leaned against, that she realised she was shaking all over.

"A little creepy, is it not?"  
Cassidy jumped, letting out an involuntary cry and turning puce when she realised that Doctor Hewitt had just re-entered the room.  
"Oh…uh…D-Doctor?"  
He went on, following her gaze back to the statue and chortling. "I know how mesmerising but utterly creepy these anthromorphic statues can be. My very first statue - the one of Poseidon on the first floor, you know, Albright? – used to royally terrify me. I rather hated to be left alone with it."

Cassidy laughed a little, shrugging and desperately trying to cool the blush in her cheeks. "Y-Yes well…I…I don't mind so much. Th-this statue…well, he's…uh…he's beautiful."  
Dr Hewitt nodded in agreement. "Well, yes. The artistry behind the statue is nothing short of superb but just as a note as your teacher, Albright," he said, looking to her. "It is generally considered unprofessional to refer to a statue as being male or female."

Cassidy's de-blushing mission promptly ended in failure. "Uh…yes. Yes, Dr Hewitt. Of course."

The doctor of archaeology took up her report and gave it a quick scan, adjusting his glasses. "Ah, I see you've made all the necessary corrections here. Very good." He let out a long exhale. "Well, it would appear that we're done here for the night, Albright. Time to head home. First we'll lock everything up and-…" He paused, patting his jacket down. "Oh dear, I appear to have left my keys in the cataloguing room. I shall fetch them before I file these reports."  
"Oh, I'll get your keys for you Dr Hewitt," Cassidy said quickly, desperately wanting to get out of the room to let the colour drain from her cheeks before she made a further farce of herself in front of her superior again.  
Not even staying in the room to accept his gratitude, the young apprentice archaeologist hurried down to the cataloguing room, only to find his keys on the main table, glinting in the low light.  
"I am an idiot," she thought, snatching up the keys and knuckling her forehead. "I just called a statue beautiful. I just referred to a statue as a "he" in front of my boss. I am a complete and utter fool. I'll be lucky if he ever looks at me as a rational human being again."

Cassidy returned to the preparation room, calling out. "Dr Hewitt! I found your keys. Do you want me to start locking up while you-…?"  
But the preparation room was empty.  
She looked around for a bit, shouting for Hewitt but to little avail. He was completely gone.  
"_Where is he?_" Cassidy thought frantically as she shoved her work materials back into her bag.  
She took a breath, trying to steady herself and to inject some rationality into the situation.  
"He probably left in a hurry after a call from Ed or from McIntosh or Stanford or something. He's an aloof man like that," she told herself aloud, shrugging her bag on to her shoulder. "He'd call or text if there was any major issue." She groaned. "And of course, he'd leave _all_ of the locking up to me."

She did one last lap of the preparation room, checking for Hewitt but there was no one else in there but her.

But her and the angel.

Cassidy found herself staring intently at it and walking over to it, picking up a dry towel and dabbing the excess varnish from its neck. "Do you know where the Doctor ran off to?" she asked softly, smiling a little. "Maybe he got a little creeped out by you and ran away?" She laughed, putting the towel down. "Can't see why he would though. I still think you're beautiful. Hm, I'll see you again tomorrow then, I guess. Then we'll see about getting those huge cracks filled and soon you'll be nice and strong again."

She left the room, still smiling away to herself as she locked the door.

Unseen to her, the angel smiled too.


	2. II

_She looked around the cavern where she stood. There was barely any light; just enough cracks in the ceiling, just enough pale, strangled sunlight straining through to illuminate the gleaming stone floor, glossed and wet from the dripping stalactites from above. The whole cave seemed so huge and hollow, darkness surrounding her on all sides.  
Despite having never been there before, she somehow knew that she was not alone. _

Cassidy Albright yawned in her sleep, her brow furrowing as she stretched.

"_It always watches. They are always watching." _

She buried her head into the crook of her arm, seeking further comfort.

"_It's always following. They are all always following. Always fast. Always silent." _

Her body quivered as a wind leaking from the preparation room window drew across her.

"_It is more than what it appears." _

Her hands slowly clenched into fists, her thumb binding her fingers and her fingernails digging deep trenches into her palms.

"_It is not what it seems." _

Her teeth clenched a little, her tongue rubbing against the roof of her mouth.

"_But its true form is only revealed when your back is turned." _

Cassidy murmured something in her sleep, her forehead creasing.

"_Don't look away. Don't blink. Blink and you're dead." _

She bit down on her lip, shuddering and her fingers tangling in her hair.

"_I am sorry but it is coming for you." _

With a snort and a sharp inhale, Cassidy awoke, realising that she had fallen asleep at her work desk for the third time that morning.  
She swore under her breath, peeling one of the report sheets from her forehead and sitting up straight. "Ugh…I need more coffee." She yawned, fumbling for the Styrofoam cup and grunting in annoyance when she realised that her pen had burst and was now leaking ink all over the table. "Bite me. Just bite me."  
She stretched her arms and turned around, only to the see the angel statue towering behind her.  
Right where she had left it.

Cassidy smiled up at the mighty stone seraph, swallowing back another groggy yawn and wiping her eyes. "Right so. I'm going to treat myself to another black coffee and then when I get back here, we can get started on fixing you up a little more."

It was only as she was leaving, that she felt as though she was being watched again.

* * *

Cassidy kneeled at the statue's feet, running her gloved hands along the deep and delicate folds of the angel's toga. Her eyes were locked on every inch of flawless, ashen stone as she tirelessly smoothed clear polish all over the stone. She had spent almost all of the morning either bruising her knees or breaking her back trying to restore the statue. It had cracks, crevices and dents in its broad arms from the chains. Not to mention the vast quantity of long jagged fissures that its skin was laden with.  
She had worked hard, filling each of the cracks with rock plaster to strengthen the statue and delicately painting over the dried rock with polish and varnish to further protect the statue.

"Afternoon, Cass," Edmund saluted as he wandered into the preparation room. He let out a long whistle. "Ah, our angel mate seems to be looking well, doesn't he?" He chuckled. "I'm impressed. This is good work for a rookie."

"Thanks for your high praise, oh almighty god of restoration," the apprentice muttered tonelessly, not looking up. "Did Dr Hewitt check in with you this morning, Ed? I haven't seen him all day and he's due to call in to see me."

"Hewitt?" Edmund questioned, cocking an eyebrow. "No. He didn't. I thought he would have been with you all morning to sort out this angel exhibit thing."  
"So you haven't seen him at all today?"  
"No. 'Fraid not."  
Cassidy sighed, knitting her brows as she worked on polishing the statue. "It was so weird. He left the museum last night without locking up. He didn't even wait for me."  
"No offence, Cass, but you're not exactly the _Queen_ or anything. It's not expected of Hewitt to look after you."  
She turned to look up at Edmund, rolling her eyes. "I know _that_, Ed. I had his keys though. I didn't think he'd leave without those. Had to turn them into the reception desk this morning and when I checked at lunch time, he still hadn't collected them." She sighed. "He just…he just disappeared. I was only away for a second and I didn't even hear him leave. This isn't like Hewitt."  
Edmund pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment before waving a hand and shaking his head. "I wouldn't care so much. I mean, I've worked with Hewitt for eight years and he's always been an aloof fellow. Besides, he has that conference thing in Glasgow. Maybe he got called up early or something and had to head up last night…"

"Well supposing that were true, why hasn't he been answering my e-mails? Or why hasn't he called or texted?"  
Edmund either chose to ignore the question or he truly didn't give a toss, for he certainly did not answer her. Instead he reached out to pat the wing of the statue. "Well, this thing is looking good."

Quick as a flash, Cassidy swatted his hand away. "No. Don't touch it. It's still drying."  
Edmund raised his hands in a quick surrender, biting back a laugh. "Ooh, someone's possessive over her precious statue. Alright, kid, I'll back off and won't lay a hand on Mr Angel here."

"The plaster and varnish are still drying," she retorted. "I don't want you getting your fingerprints all over the statue's surface." Cassidy grimaced. "Curator Stanford would go bonkers again if he found another flawed exhibit on display. Remember the Roman fresco incident?"  
In unison, the two museum workers shuddered and Edmund frowned, nodding. "Good point. You're still mad about that angel though."

"W-well, it's my first exhibition project. I really want it to be perfect."  
"Whatever you say. It looks better than yesterday anyway. It can go on display soon."  
"_He_ can go on display soon. Calling him an "it" makes him sound like a statue of a bug or something."  
"Did you think of a better name?"  
"Hm?"  
"For…the…statue?" Edmund repeated slowly, as if talking to a child.  
"Michael."  
"Michael? That sounds…commonplace."  
Cassidy rolled her eyes. "You ungodly philistine. Michael is supposed to be the name of God's head angel. The archangel, you know? I don't know whether or not this statue was supposed to be of _il Archangelo Michaelangelo_ but the name rather suits him, I think."

"So…you want to name the statue…like the whole exhibit…_Michael_?" Edmund's eyebrows slowly disappeared up behind his long, pale blonde fringe.  
"Yes, that is exactly what I intend to do. I think it's a great name and Hewitt gave this project to me, so I can call the exhibit whatever I want."

Edmund was quiet for a moment. Cassidy couldn't see whether or not he was pulling a face at her or just concocting his next subtle jab at her professionalism but she could feel his eyes on her.  
Regardless, she did not take her eyes away from the statue, taking up her soft-bristle brush and using it to delicately dust excess grit and powder from "Michael's" joints and hollows.

"Need a hand?" Edmund finally asked.  
"No," Cassidy responded quickly and firmly.  
"…do you think maybe you should take a lunch-break?"  
"No. I'm fine."  
Another moment of tense silence hung between them before disgruntled sounding Edmund finally bid her a farewell and left.

Cassidy sighed, standing up and shaking her head. She gently dusted the bridge of the angel's nose, smiling faintly. "He must think I'm terribly rude…and you must think I'm terribly rude too." She laughed, switching to her fan brush to get some of the smaller pieces of grit. "Just tell me if I'm tickling you." The angel's eyes remained hidden behind his eyes, his lips softly parted and he was silent as ever.  
"You're a good listener, Michael, you know that? The pottery I usually talk to normally can't shut the hell up."  
Cassidy sighed. "I'll bet you think I'm rude _and_ pathetic now. Well, to rectify one of those points of assumption, I don't always blow Edmund off and I know that he is, admittedly, a rather nice guy." She lightly ran a finger along a line of plaster to make sure that it had hardened sufficiently. "He's just _always_ trying to steal my thunder. I know he's pretending to take interest in you but in reality, as always, he's just annoyed that I'm getting a little more of the spotlight than usual." Her brow furrowed and she found herself automatically resting her forehead against the cool, stone chest of the angel. The statue was much sturdier than she thought it would be. "It's never good enough for him to just have a higher-paid and higher-ranked job than me; he just _has_ to one-up me no matter what we do."  
She looked up into the angel's face, imagining that she could see his eyes and that somehow he was smiling at her. "Well, not this time, Michael. This time, I'm in the limelight, this is _my_ project and Edmund Potter is not going to weasel his way into it so that he can take all of the credit."  
A slight smirk came to her lips and Cassidy found herself playfully cupping the angel's face and tilting her face upward so that her soft, crinkled pink lips were just centimetres away from the angel's perfectly chiselled, polished grey ones. "And maybe I secretly don't want him anywhere near you because I'm terribly jealous and I just _love_ our alone-time together."

"Albright! What exactly are you doing?"

Cassidy turned with a yelp, dropping her fan brush in shock, only to see Curator Stanford's pinch-faced assistant Sybil Darrow standing behind her.  
"M-Miss Darrow…I…I, uh, I…was just…_checking_ the statue for…hairline cracks."

The thin woman wrinkled her nose slightly, her horse-like jaw clenching as she looked down her nose at the younger archaeologist. "Of _course_ you were, Albright." She clicked her tongue, placing a hand on her hip. "Need I remind you that artefacts for display in the museum should not be treated as playthings? Or have your forgotten?"

Cassidy nodded, feeling her neck grow extremely hot as she bent her head. "Y-yes, M-Miss Darrow."  
Darrow smirked cruelly, rolling her eyes. "And I'd invest myself less in my work, if I were you, Albright. Some of the staff have noted that you've become rather…obsessive in regards to that statue."

"_Fuck you, Edmund Potter,"_ thought Cassidy in both annoyance and utter humiliation, though she stayed quiet and continued to nod like a stupid, little bobble-head.  
"I have just come here," Darrow went on. "To notify you that the podium for your exhibit has been cleared. It is on the fourth floor in the second room. You must check it out immediately and fill out a report for Mr Stanford before the unveiling of the statue next week. I would suggest that you do this _immediately_. I shall await your return and then we can discuss your…evident misconduct." She let out a low snort of laughter. "I shall keep the statue company whilst you are gone, Albright."

"Yes."  
This was all Cassidy Albright could muster before leaving the room. She hated that she had no other choice than to abide by Darrow's orders and could not give the slightest of rebukes to her constant chiding. The woman was nothing more than a snooty bully, as far as Cassidy was concerned.  
"At least Edmund has his good days when he's not trying to prove he's better than me," she thought glumly, taking the elevator to the fourth floor. "That old cow is perpetually doing everything she can to make me miserable and I've done bugger all to her since I got here."

The exhibition space was actually quite impressive. There was a small podium with steps in front of it that Michael would be displayed upon. It was backdropped by a crimson velvet curtain, crowned by small floodlights and a thin golden plaque was mounted on the wall beside the podium with a blank space for names and dates to be carved.  
Cassidy couldn't help but smile, knowing that very soon, her name would be on that plaque and Michael would be on that podium. Then the two of them would be in the spotlight for the whole of the world to admire.

On the way back to the elevator, she heard someone calling out to her.  
"Oi, Cass!"  
Cassidy turned and grinned to her favourite security guard. "Hi Omar. What's up?"  
"Not much," he shrugged and then grinned. "I've heard that you've got an exhibit of your own. A certain angel statue?"  
Cassidy felt her face turn pink for the umpteenth time that day. "Ah yes, well…I really hop that its well received. Hewitt entrusted me with a lot and I don't want to let him down."

Omar winked. "No better woman for the job. Hey, just wondering, has anything odd happened to the security cameras in the prep rooms?"  
She raised her eyebrows. "No. Not that I'd notice anyway, really. I'm not exactly a tech wiz. Why?"  
Omar groaned. "All over the museum, the cameras have been going haywire. Just randomly turning on and off and suddenly getting zapped of all battery power. Darrow came complaining about it this morning and the old nag won't get off my back until I've sorted it out."  
"Don't the security staff have _any_ idea what's causing the cameras to go funny? I mean could it just be a glitch in the system or kids fooling around."  
"Not a clue. Kids aren't smart enough to pull off something like this and if it were a glitch, the webmaster would have found it by now. And we're not able to get an electrician from the company in until Tuesday. Darrow knows that and she's still being a pain in the ass about it. Typical of her, eh?"

"Yeah, that sounds like Darrow, alright." Cassidy frowned. "Speaking of the devil, she's waiting for me in the preparation room right now."  
"Ah, best not keep her waiting so. The old bat might find something else to complain about," Omar grunted, taking out his torch and preparing for his evening shift. "Best of luck with the exhibit, Cass."

"Thanks Omar!" she called over her shoulder as she headed back to the room. "Good luck sorting out the cameras! I'll let you know if I notice anything strange!"

Reluctantly, Cassidy made her way back to the preparation room, taking a deep breath to calm herself before grasping the brass knob and opening the door.  
The first thing to strike her was the silence in the room. The complete and total silence.  
No clacking of high heels, no tapping of a pen against a clipboard, no impatient tongue clicking.

The first thing that her eyes fell upon was her fan brush.  
She could remember dropping the delicate tool at the angel's feet when Sybil Darrow had walked in on her "interactions" with him.  
However the brush was no longer at the angel's feet.  
It was now resting on the angel's outstretched palm, balancing delicately across the bridge of his thumb. The other arm remained draped across his eyes, apparently shielding his tearful eyes from the world.

Darrow, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Cassidy's mind began to race.  
Her first absurd thought was that Darrow was playing some kind of strange practical joke on her, placing her brush in the hand of the angel and then hiding behind a shelf to see her reaction. Taking this into account, the young woman calmly walked into the room and looked around carefully. No one was in the room. No one but her and the angel.  
Feeling heavy _déjà vu_ resounding from the night before, Cassidy called out, "Miss Darrow? Hello? Are you there?"  
_Hadn't she said that she'd wait for her in the preparation room? Or had she said to meet in a different room? _

Feeling paranoid and not wanting to allow Darrow to reprimand her twice in one day, Cassidy quickly fumbled for her mobile phone and dialled the assistant curate's number.  
She lifted the phone to her ear and waited for the dial tone but then jumped, letting out a cry when she heard a rhythmic vibration from somewhere in the room.

She found Darrow's phone under one of the shelves.  
"What the absolute fuck?" Cassidy murmured under her breath, taking up the phone.  
How had the phone gotten there?  
The phone had slid pretty far back beneath the shelves. There was no way she could have just accidently let it fall under there. It would have had to be kicked or thrown across the floor or would have had to have dropped it in quite a hurry.

Cassidy swallowed, slowly rising and placing the phone on the work-table.  
"Maybe she'll come back for it later…"  
She took a few more deep breaths, carefully soothing herself as her mother had conditioned her to, whenever she felt any kind of anxiety.  
Chiding aside, Cassidy decided, if Darrow really wanted to talk to her about something, surely she'd come looking for her in the preparation room after a few minutes had passed?

Deciding that this was the best option for the moment, Cassidy took a quick swig from the water-bottle on her desk and set about cleaning up her things. She wandered back over to the statue and delicately took the brush from his outstretched hand. She was still in deep confusion about why Darrow would have put it there in the first place.

"Thank you," she said softly, smiling a little as she placed it aside. "You're such a gentleman, picking that up for me."  
Exhaling and finally allowing her heart-rate to steady, Cassidy placed the brush aside and back into her leather archaeologist's wallet.  
"I can just stay here until eleven and wait for her to get back. That's when the guards change so she should be back by at least then," she told herself. "And if she doesn't come back…" She looked to the statue with another slight smile. "…at least I can say that I spent the evening doing something worthwhile."

* * *

Cassidy dipped the sponge back into the bucket, letting the warm, soapy water soak back up into the pores and enjoying the heat of the water as it lapped against her skin.

She had been kneeling in front of the statue for almost two hours now. She washed the stone with the greatest care, scrubbing away at every last inch of hardened grit, grime and dirt. She worked her hands to the bone, her wrists aching and the soft pads of her fingers, wrinkling.  
Yet she did not stop for a moment.  
Her knees hurting and her back strained, she finally managed to bring herself to stand. She massaged the warm water into the angel's form, trying her hardest to make the stone shine.  
Cassidy couldn't explain it but the statue was starting to look better, stronger and almost, _healthier_.

"A lot of people are going to see you on display tomorrow, Michael. Don't worry though. They'll all be blown away by how stunning you look. In a week's time, we'll also be hosting a big ceremony and throwing a big party to celebrate you coming to us here in the museum."

She smiled, glad that her work was starting to pay off already.  
She switched to a soft rag in order to work on Michael's softer, facial details like the perfect curves of his lips, nose and his extremely detailed fingers.  
The artist had even gone as far as to carve the individual shapes of the finger bones beneath the skin, knuckles and fingernails.

"If I only I knew who carved you," Cassidy whispered, gingerly cleaning the bridge of his nose. "You're so realistic…and such a mystery."  
She felt something strange wash over her as she looked into the face of the angel- a kind of extreme reverence and fear mixed with a terrible sense of longing.  
She felt herself shudder. It was as though part of her wanted to run away from the statue as quickly as possible and the other part wanted to never look away from it.  
It was only after she had washed the statue twice further and dried the stone with a heat rod that she finally managed to tear her eyes away from it and to lock up for the night.

Darrow never came looking for her.

_In the darkness of the preparation room and not under the direct sight of any living creature, he found himself free to move again.  
Free from the effects of the quantum lock.  
His evolution-enhanced eyes sliced through the shadows and he flexed his fingers, feeling his epidermal stone become flesh once more.  
He moved to the door, lighting tapping the handle with a single finger to see that it was locked. _

_He was not trying to escape.  
If he had wanted to escape, he could have done that last night. He could have smashed through the door had he wanted to or he could have easily shattered every window in the room to facilitate his leaving.  
However, this was not necessary. _

_After devouring the old male human's years, he had contemplated leaving and relishing his newfound freedom.  
It was insulting and infuriating to think that the humans thought they could imprison in this "gallery of curios" of sorts and rage boiling beneath his skin, he was about to escape. _

_But then, a truly evil idea entered his mind. _

_Remaining in this place gave him infinite access to humans.  
Humans who would walk willingly into the compass of his predatorial needs.  
Feeding off of the older female that day had been proof of that. _

_His kind had long primed themselves to go long periods of time without eating. One meal every few months was usually a normal diet. As such, the promise of a steady stream of victims each day seemed a tantalising prospect.  
_

_And the little female human.  
Oh __**his**__ young human girl. _

_How she entertained him. _

_He had initially been eager to take her life years.  
Such a young, healthy child with a promising life, she was. _

_Soon, though, his intentions for her had slowly grown more and more malicious.  
Like all of his kind and most of the wider galaxy, he regarded humans as nothing more than greedy, self-glorified vermin- only good for food and sadistic entertainment. _

_Yet this human seemed to worship him simply for existing.  
She did not stare at him in unblinking fear but in naïve and childish wonder. She was like his personal slave. She washed him, she repaired the cracks in his stone skin, her presence brought him so many good meals.  
Her circle of friends alone seemed to be tempting menu, not to mention these "lots of other people" she had promised to bring him. _

_She was a neverending source of entertainment too.  
Her constant, bubbly chatter was pathetically amusing.  
What had she recently dubbed him? Michael, was it not?  
Her skittering around, awkwardness and occasional clumsily worded rambles were nothing short of hilarious.  
Her ignorance of the danger she was in was particularly, deliciously comical. _

_It partly disgusted him, but he also quite enjoyed her touch and the way she was eternally fussing about his wellbeing. _

_None of his kind, in the history of their species had ever had a __**slave**__ human.  
A __**pet**__ human. _

_The evil thought had grown in his already malevolent mind and soon he was firmly set upon this scheme. _

"_Oh yes, Cassidy Albright," he thought, smirking and revealing his sharply curved fangs as he ran his fingers over the leather wallet of brushes that she had left on the table. He remembered the way she had shyly taken the brush from his hand. His little mouse was always in such awe of him- even if she did not yet know a thing of his true powers. His thoughts had truly dissolved into the very depths of the dark and the depraved and he snarled hungrily, thinking of their delightful future together.  
"I will soon possess you child. In mind. In soul. And in body." _


	3. III

_Sent: 12/10/12 13:40  
To: Hewitt_DoctorofArchaeology gmail . net  
Cc: cassyrosebright hotmail . com  
__Subject: The New Exhibit__  
_

_Dear Dr Hewitt,  
_

_Firstly, I apologise for my persistence and I hope that your trip to Glasgow is going well. I am aware that this is my sixth e-mail; however as your humble apprentice and student, I would feel much more at ease at the upcoming exhibition if you were present there.  
Curator Stanford has asked me to re-issue my invitation to you. Please find this attached to this e-mail. Provided that you have already received it, I would be very much obliged if you could send an RSVP receipt in return to clarify this.  
I realise that you are probably very busy at the moment but even some criticism or advice regarding the exhibition would be very helpful to me. I have a few questions regarding the final stages of the restoration process and whether or not the resin and plaster should be working quickly over a period of forty eight hours. Should I send you a few attached photographs of the restored statue? I also need you to send me the results of the revised dating tests- something which Curator Stanford has also been insistent about.  
Once again, I apologise for my persistence and hope that your research is going well.  
Thank you for taking the time to read this e-mail and I hope to hear from you soon. _

_Yours sincerely,  
Cassidy Albright _

* * *

"He hasn't been returning my e-mails."  
"Who hasn't?" Louisa Fitzhugh, the museum's resident receptionist asked, looking up from her computer screen to the apprentice archaeologist who was sitting cross-legged on her desk.  
Usually Louisa wouldn't have tolerated Cassidy's chosen perch, ("If the kids aren't allowed to do it, Cass, neither are you."), but it was three hours before opening and the receptionist could tell when her best friend was stressed out enough to be allowed to break the rules.

"Hewitt," Cassidy said, swallowing back another yawn and massaging her temples. "This is really unlike him. Seriously. I mean he's been slow to reply before but he's never _ignored_ my e-mails entirely. I mean usually after my second e-mail, he sends me something telling me to shut up and _stop_ e-mailing him."  
Louisa closed down her Facebook page and frowned. "So what are you going to do about the opening of the angel statue exhibit next week?"  
"I dunno," Cassidy shrugged, taking a long, deep breath when she realised the implications of his absence for the first time. "I guess, I'm just going to have to give the opening speech and presentation without Dr Hewitt." Her eyes widened. "I'm a little freaked out about this."

"Couldn't you ask Edmund to do it?" Louisa suggested, absent-mindedly re-arranging the announcement cards beneath the counter. "Or at least to help you with it?"  
"Oh no, no, _no_," Cassidy immediately retorted. "He is _not_ getting involved in this. No matter how much he wants to." She wrinkled her nose. "He's always fucking trying to pull the spotlight away from me. He just can't stand that I've finally managed to get one up on him and he just _has _to outdo me. I'm getting sick of it." Cassidy ran her fingers through her hair, agitated as she looked back to her friend. "He's been a proper ass to me lately too. He went off complaining about me to Darrow yesterday."

"Complaining? About what?"  
"Apparently everyone thinks I'm getting too attached to the statue. Darrow seemed to think I was practically fawning over it like a lover." Cassidy lowered her gaze, looking into her lap.  
Louisa gave her a bemused smile, cocking an eyebrow. "Weren't you though? Everyone in the staff knows how obsessed you are with it, Cass, babe."  
Cassidy looked up, her eyes widening. "Everyone o-on the staff th-thinks that?" She snorted indignantly, rolling her eyes. "Well, _obviously_ I care greatly about the statue. I mean this is the first big find I've ever had. But I'm not obsessed with it or anything, Lou. Come on, it's just a statue."

She said this all very fast and did not quite meet the receptionist's eyes as she said it. It was Louisa who decided to change the subject.  
"Ed's probably just jealous. I can see why."  
Cassidy cocked an eyebrow. "Ed? Jealous? His job is better paid and of higher status than mine. I'm only getting a little more attention than usual because of this one weensy exhibit. And he's opened and presented what? Like forty exhibits before? Why on earth does that give him the right to be jealous of me?"  
Louisa gave a low chuckle, her eyes lidded as she leaned forward on one elbow. "I didn't say I thought he was jealous of _you_, dullard. I reckon he's jealous of _Leon._"  
Her companion coughed, suddenly feeling her neck heat up. "L-Leon? Leon Drake? The tour guide guy? Why would Edmund Potter be jealous of him?"  
Louisa's lip-glossed smirk widened. "_Becau_se,it's so bloody obvious that you have the biggest crush ever on Leon and Edmund is jealous because he knows that better than anyone."

Cassidy barked with laughter. "You think Edmund actually li-? Oh God, Lou. The only reason Ed would take any interest in me is if he thought I was muscling in on _his_ job." She placed a hand on the back of her neck, hoping that she'd cool down soon. "And I do _not_ have a crush on Leon…"  
Louisa held up her hands in surrender, now laughing madly at her friend's embarrassment. "Oh, I think you do, Cass! And speaking of the devil…" She looked over Cassidy's shoulder, suddenly beaming. "Morning, Leon."  
Sure enough, there was the handsome redhead strutting down the corridor towards the main desk, already dressed in his scarlet and royal blue tour-guide's suit.

"Good morning, Louisa!" he returned, jovial as ever and nodding to both of the girls. "Good morning, Cass." He blinked at the latter of the two, tilting his head with concern. "Are you alright, Cass? You look kind of flushed."  
Cassidy had to pinch Louisa beneath the table to stop her from bursting into peals of laughter. "I'm fine, Leon. Just a little warm."

Leon grinned. "That's good to hear. I was worried that you might've caught something off Abbie for a minute there. She was complaining about having a sore head this morning, saying that she couldn't come in for Lil'Diggers club." He frowned. "It was kind of unsettling for me. Usually she can't wait to get to the museum but this morning I had to bribe her with ice-cream to even get her out the door."  
Cassidy uncurled her legs, dangling them over the edge of the counter. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she's feeling better soon. It's a good thing that she decided to come in after all though," she added with a smile. "Abbie is truly the star of the Lil'Diggers Club. It'd be a pity if she missed a meeting."

Now it was Louisa's turn to pinch Cassidy under the table, an even wider grin on her glossy lips. Cassidy frowned internally and shot a quick glare down at Louisa..  
Her concern for Abigail Drake had nothing to do with wanting to get closer to Leon; she genuinely got on really well with Abbie. In fact, the little girl was the most intelligent of her age, she'd ever met.  
"Yes, it truly would be a pity," Leon smiled. "That's actually what I came down here to talk about. James called in sick this morning and won't be in for the usual Lil'Diggers meeting before opening hours. Would either of you be interested in filling in?"

Louisa immediately interjected. "Well, I'm actually really busy filing all of these messages for Hewitt and Stanford." She winked up at her best friend. "But Cassidy here is more than available…"

"_Lou!"_ Cassidy choked out before coughing slightly and recomposing herself again, looking to Leon. "Yes, I'm free until opening hours and…I'd love to help out with the meeting…"

Leon beamed. "Perfect! You being there will cheer Abbie right up. Plus, the kids are going to be looking at your angel statue this morning. Having you there will make telling the kids about it all the easier. You're so knowledgeable about this kind of thing anyway. I always fudge all my facts up." He scratched the back of his neck, humble as ever. "I don't know how I ever became a guide here."

As she walked down the corridor with Leon, Cassidy could have sworn she heard a wolf-whistle from Louisa in the distance.

* * *

"Ok mini-archaeologists," Leon told the group of children. "I think Miss Albright has answered a lot of your questions about the angel statue! Now it's time for you to make up some answers of your own." The older man crouched down to the eye-level of the group of excited, chirpy little kiddies- all clad in coloured jackets and carrying their very own sketch pads. "I want you to look at the angel statue really carefully and to make up your very own story about the angel, Michael. Where do you think he came from? What did he do before he came here? How do you think he would feel to be here if he were a real person? When you've got your story, then I want you to go to tell your partner. Ready! Set! Go!"

Cassidy giggled, watching the children run off in their brightly coloured swarm- Abbie in the centre of the group shouting about how her story was the best idea.  
"They're so enthusiastic. I wish they had this club here when I was little."  
"Yeah, it would have been great, wouldn't it?" Leon said, looking to her. "I have to hand it to you, Cass. The statue looks amazing. You did a great job restoring it. This exhibit is going to be amazing when it opens officially."

The young woman couldn't help but swoon slightly, trying with every fibre of her being to not start tittering like a school-girl as she forced modesty upon herself. "Thanks, seriously. Thank you so much…but the exhibit could be so much better. I mean, the statue is so mysterious. There's so little I could even answer for the kids…"

"Well," Leon countered. "There are plenty of other exhibits in the museum that are nothing short of exceptional and yet, shrouded in mystery." He chuckled, guiding her over to a canvas on display on the left wall next to the angel statue. "This painting has created controversy among viewers since the day that it came into the museum."  
"It's…it's beautiful."  
Cassidy's eyes scanned the painting, taking in each oil-glossed paint-stroke. The work was painted in a distinctly macabre style but with rich, classic colourings. It featured a huge, hulking, slate-skinned beast with a pretty, waif-like young maiden in his burly grasp- all against a backdrop of towering, twisted black trees: some kind of dark forest.  
_"La Belle et le Bête," _she read aloud from the golden plaque. "The Beauty and the Beast?"  
"Clever," praised Leon, nodding.  
Cassidy waved a hand. "I took up French in Year Nine." She found herself looking carefully at the painting, her eyes suddenly settling on the face of the maiden in the arms of the supposed beast. "Her face…"  
"Yes?"  
She furrowed her brow. "I can't tell whether the girl is …well it's hard to say...if…"

"If she's throwing her head back in fear or in rapture?" Leon grinned. "Yep, that right there is the big controversy. People can't tell whether or not the maiden has her eyes shut in terror because she's been captured or in the throes of passion because she's with her secret lover."  
There was something about hearing Leon use words like "rapture", "passion" and "lover" that made Cassidy's fingertips tingle and her mouth turn dry.

Perhaps she _had_ liked him for quite a while now.  
Girly crush?  
Yes, of course it was.

But Cassidy Albright knew full well that she was no longer a silly, gushing schoolgirl and that was why the constant butterflies in her stomach around Leon was starting to become a little unnerving.

"What do you think? About the painting, I mean," the tour guide asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder.  
Cassidy swallowed, about to force herself to speak when suddenly she caught something out of the corner of her eye, in her peripheral vision. The overbearing paranoia and the feeling of being watched had suddenly returned.  
She whipped her head around, a flash of grey caught in her gaze and in an instant, she was staring at the angel statue again.  
At Michael.

"Are you alright?" Leon asked, quizzically and furrowing his brows.  
Cassidy felt herself shudder involuntarily, nodding quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." She laughed outright, not feeling quite in the mood for laughter but laughing all the same. "I…I just…I just felt as if the angel statue was looking at me!"  
"Well, he's not going to see much, is he? He has his arm over his eyes."  
"…well, it still felt like…the statue was watching…somehow…listening, even…"  
"Listening?"  
She had never felt so relieved in her entire life when Abbie suddenly ran over, tugging the leg of her brother's pressed drainpipe trousers.

"Leon! Leon! Everybody's done telling their stories! Can we draw now!? Can we?!"

Leon smiled, patting his sister's head. "Ok, ok. Simmer down, Abbie!" He blew his whistle, summoning the children over and giving the new instructions.  
"Ok everyone. Now we're going to sketch the statue. You all know the drill. We'll sit around the statue in a semi-circle. Take a good long look at the angel, then look down at your drawing pads and see how much of the angel you can draw from memory. Don't look up until you've finished and see how like the angel your drawing is! Sketching from memory is an important skill of an archaeologist…"

Cassidy was only half-listening.  
Her own eyes were still focused on the statue, hard and unblinking. Even though she couldn't see its eyes, she felt as though it was staring back at her.  
Watching her every move.  
A wave of nausea washed over her and her stomach suddenly tightened.

"I- I'll be outside."  
She ran from the room, heading over to the nearest drinking-water fountain and dangling her head over the pristine metal bowl. She wasn't particularly thirsty but for some reason, pressing her head down against the cool metal and looking at nothing but her own blurry reflection was somewhat soothing.  
She pressed the button gingerly, letting the water gush from the spout and taking a long, cool slurp.  
Cassidy spluttered, feeling someone suddenly touch her back and whipping around to see Leon standing there, holding a paper cup and looking concerned.

"I find it easier to drink with one of these," he said rather quietly, handing her the cup which she gratefully accepted. "Are you sure you're not sick, Cass? I mean first the flushing and now..."  
Cassidy shook her head vigorously, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "I'm fine. Just…just a little on the stressed side, today."  
Leon rubbed her back gently, bringing colour to her cheeks once more. "You know, it's alright to have a bit of a fear of statues even if you work with them. I'll admit, I have no idea how you spend so much time alone with them…"

She blinked.  
He thought she was _afraid_ of the statue?  
Was she?

Cassidy coughed, taking another sip of water and putting the cup aside. "I'm not afraid of the statue…I just…" She sighed. "I don't know how to explain it. I just got really uncomfortable in there for a moment." She forced herself to smile again. "Maybe I'm just overworked. Seeing the statue on display was rather weird and perhaps it's only serving to remind me of this presentation I have to do. I'm a bit nervous of that, I'll admit."  
Leon nodded, smiling warmly and putting his arm around her to give her a comforting half-embrace. "I wouldn't worry about the presentation. You'll do great. Besides, you'll have me, Louisa and Ed in the audience for support." He chuckled. "Not to mention, you've got your very own guardian angel looking out for you."  
Cassidy was about to laugh, a dizzying lightness in her head from being held so close to Leon, but she was drowned out by the sounds of screaming.

The two museum workers looked up in panic, watching as the entire group of children came running from the display room, screaming and shrieking and crying.  
Some of the younger children were in complete hysterics, their cheeks soaked with tears and their brows creased with shock.

"What's wrong? What's the matter?" Leon asked, frantically running forward to comfort and to count the children.  
The bottom just about dropped from Cassidy's stomach when amidst the cacophony of squeals and screams, she heard what the children were saying.

"It moved, Leon!"  
"The angel statue moved!"  
"It looked up!"  
"It was so scary!"

As Leon tried to calm the children and to coax them to go back inside, Cassidy found herself gripping the edge of the water fountain for support- to stop herself from keeling over.  
She watched as little Abbie bypassed her brother and instead came hurtling towards her.

Cassidy stooped down, allowing the little girl to throw her tiny arms around her neck.  
"Abbie, sshhh," she tried to soothe her, despite the hammering heart in her own chest. "It's just a statue. I'm sure it was a trick of the light or something. It didn't really move…"

"No!" Abbie insisted, hugging the young woman as tightly as she could. "He moved! He really did. He looked right at us."  
The little girl drew closer to Cassidy, whispering into her ear.  
Abbie's words truly made her feel sick and chilled her to her very core.

"He watches you when you sleep," she whispered.  
Cassidy's eyes widened and she reeled backwards, grabbing the little girl by the shoulders. "What?"  
"He likes to watch you when you sleep," she repeated. "Sometimes when you fall asleep at your desk, he walks over to watch you sleeping."  
"_Who does, Abbie?_" Cassidy asked in a confused, frightened whisper.

"Michael watches you, Cassy. The angel statue."

Cassidy felt her stomach convulse and her fingertips started to turn cold. "Wh-Who told you that?"  
"_He_ did, Cassy. Michael did. He told me in a dream I had." The little girl sniffed, nestling closer. "I wanted to tell you before but he's just so _scary_."

Before she could say or ask anything else, Leon came over to pry Abbie away from her and to usher her back over to the crowd of squawking children. "Come on, Abbie. Leave Cass alone."  
Cassidy wanted to lift an arm to stop him and to call the little girl back.  
However, she couldn't.

Her arms were cold and numb.

She stood up and suddenly broke into a run.  
_"They said that he moved. They all said that he moved. All of the children said that he moved."  
_She ran to the display room, bolting to the statue as fast as her quivering legs could carry her. No.  
The angel hadn't moved an inch. Michael was still in the exact same position that he had always been in. One muscular fore-arm draped over his eyes as if he was crying and the other relaxed at his side, the palm slightly outstretched as if seeking comfort.

What frightened Cassidy was the secret part of her that was so relieved that he hadn't moved.

But what truly terrified Cassidy was the secret part of her that had badly _wanted_ to see the statue move.

* * *

It only took a day for Cassidy to return to normality.  
It took a single sleepless night for her to stop thinking frightening thoughts about the angel and to be able to face it once again.

Admittedly, however, she felt somewhat better with Louisa standing behind her as she polished the angel's huge stone wings.  
She sprayed another layer of water and liquid soap on to the angel's stone feathers, waiting for the mist to settle before working the mixture into the carved plumage with a soft cloth.

"So the kids were all just screaming and bolting?" the receptionist questioned. "That's so fucking weird."  
Cassidy nodded, shrugging. "Leon had a right job trying to get them all back inside the room." She grimaced, shaking her head. "And a right job trying to deal with all of the complaining parents."  
"And they were all screaming about the angel having moved?"  
"Yes," Cassidy replied, dabbing around the angel's face. "It was probably a trick of the light of some kind. The children are seriously imaginative too. Maybe their imagination games just got a little bit out of hand."

Louisa smirked, stretching and tilting her head at the statue. "_Well,_ there have been a fair few rumours flying around about that statue. Some of the staff swear that they've seen it move since it's been on display." She nudged Cassidy, bubbly as always and her hoop earrings jangling at each step. "In fact, Petra from security swears to the ground that she saw it step down from its podium."

"What a load of bull," Cassidy said, feeling straight away that the words sounded too harsh. She knew that her friend was only trying to sprinkle a little humour on the situation but all the same, she didn't like hearing that other people were claiming to have seen the statue move.  
"You know what's a lot of bull? Did you hear what Alex told Richie this afternoon?" Louisa strode up to the statue as she nattered on about some flighty museum gossip. She was about to lean on the statue.  
She had no sooner lifted a hand before Cassidy swatted her away. "Oi, not when I've just polished it."

"Oooh," teased Louisa. "A little touchy about that statue, eh?" She caught Cassidy's offending hand playfully. "I'm starting to get worried that angel-boy here is stealing my Cass away from me. Taking all of her atten-…fuck! Cass! Your hands!"  
Cassidy squirmed uncomfortably, pulling her hand away from Louisa. "…what about them?"  
"They're all red and sore-looking!"  
"It's from repairing all of the cracks in the angel's body. The plaster burns sometimes and the stone leaves cuts." She waved it off, pre-empting her companion's misdirected pity. "Don't fret about it though, it's fine."

Louisa arched her brow, her voice softening completely. "Cass…" She paused for a moment before speaking again, her tone rejuvenated and bouncy again. "So what are you wearing for the big night?"  
Cassidy grinned as she moved a hand to polish the angel's neck. "The red dress I wore for Petra's birthday night out."  
"The one with the roses?" Louisa gushed, grinning. "Oh God, babe, you should definitely wear a red rose in your hair too."  
The young archaeologist beamed, running her hand up the angel's neck and up to his strong jaw-bone. "Red roses are my favourite blooms. They're amazing, aren't they?" She smiled. "The flowers that symbolise passion, lust, romance…the colour that symbolises power, danger, ferocity…"  
"You kinky little minx," Louisa grinned, mirthfully slapping Cassidy's backside.  
"It's not like that at all!" Cassidy protested, laughing. "I'm an _archaeologist._ I just quite like any use of symbolism."  
"_Yeah, sure_ you do, poppet," her friend taunted, grabbing her around the waist and hugging her tightly, pulling her away from the angel and causing her to drop her cloth.  
"_Louisa!_" Cassidy objected but then dissolved into a fit of giggles, realising that struggling was futile when her best friend was in one of her hyper moods. "Could you possibly do my hair for me, for the exhibition, Lou? You know how positively hopeless I am with a curling iron."  
"Sure, love. What were you thinking? Up do or down do?"  
"You choose for me."  
Louisa winked. "How's about you ditch this boring old angel statue for a while and join me for a coffee? I won't take no for an answer!"

Cassidy opened her mouth to dissent but Louisa had already grabbed her around the wrist and dragged her out the door.

"Come on, Cass! He's made of stone! He's not going to mind if I steal you away for a while!"

* * *

_But the angel __**did**__ mind. _

_He had long decided that he did not like it when other filthy human vermin distracted his little human pet and took her attention away from him.  
The angel very much liked having a tight hold on his slave's mind and it set rage boiling like molten rock beneath his skin to see other humans fawning over her.  
Seeing others __**touching**__ his little human gave was enough to make him murderously angry. _

_Somebody else was touching what he had yet to claim but what he had declared his own.  
Somebody else was playing with __**his **__trinket.  
__**His **__toy.  
"My little slave should not be surrounded by others," he decided. "All of her time and devotion should be to my well-being. Me, the superior being." _

_He watched the dark-haired female human drag his slave from the room and gave a low chuckle.  
As much as it angered him, there was one definite benefit to having his little human surrounded by others.  
There was always a meal ready and waiting for him.  
And he had decided to have some particular fun with this one. _

* * *

It was an hour after closing time and two hours before lock-up.

With a pen snugly resting in her hand, pressed against the page of her notebook and headphones resting snugly in her ears, she sat alone in the preparation room, working on her speech.

Cassidy had learned a long time ago that she slept best when listening to music.  
It was her mother who had first resorted to leaving the radio on to soothe her five-year-old insomniac to sleep.  
Unfortunately, despite having learned this lesson only too well over eighteen years ago, Cassidy still often left her iPod on and in her ears while she was working late at night in a desperate attempt to keep herself awake.

The preparation room felt strangely bare without the angel statue there.  
It also felt bizarrely lonely but devoid of the usual paranoia she had started to feel in there. Her finger swirled around the white dial pad of the iPod before finally clicking on the first song that appeared on the screen.

"_Close your eyes,  
Give me your hand, darling.  
Do you feel my heart beating?  
Do you understand?" _

She found herself lightly murmuring along to the lyrics of the old Bangles tune. Cassidy had never been much of a singer but singing quietly along became a rather automatic reaction. It wasn't long before the printed blue words on the page in front of her started to double, triple- hazing and fazing into each other like phantoms.

"_Do you feel the same?  
Or am I only dreaming?" _

Cassidy felt her eyes become heavier, her shoulders and neck starting to quiver and quake under the weight of her drowsy head.  
Only seconds later, the young woman's head was resting on the table, her eyes shut in slumber and her breathing deep and slow.

"_Is this burning an eternal flame?" _

Her brow furrowed as she slept, feeling as if someone was watching her.

"_I believe, it's meant to be, darling." _

Soon, she was dreaming.

"_I watch you when you are sleeping,  
You belong to me.  
Do you feel the same?  
Or am I only dreaming?" _

She dreamt of Michael, of the angel, just as she had for every night since she had found the statue.

"_Is this burning an eternal flame?" _

She dreamt that Michael's cold, grey skin had turned to smooth flesh. Somehow he had transformed into a living being. For the first time ever, she could see his eyes and though the image never quite stuck in her mind, she knew they were captivating.  
In her dream, Michael sat upon a throne, lined with gold and red velvet. She tirelessly had to bring him plates of exotic foods and massive tankards of drink but no matter how much she brought him, he was only hungrier still.  
It wasn't long before she collapsed with exhaustion at his feet.  
She looked up at the mighty angel in fear, terrified that he would punish her in some way.  
Instead, Michael smirked darkly, reaching down and taking her by the chin.

"_No weeping, my little pet," _he whispered, guiding her to stand and to sit into his lap. _"No tears."  
_He cupped her face and brought her close, his lips only mere centimetres from hers.  
_"Close your eyes," _he commanded her. _"Just close your eyes." _

Cassidy stirred in her sleep, feeling a terrible heat rise in her face and neck.  
"Mmm…"

Suddenly "_Eternal Flame"_ by Bangles came to a sharp and sudden close and the next track on the iPod, _"You Give Love a Bad Name" _by Bon Jovi tore through her ear canals.  
She jerked awake with a start, yawning and stretching, her eyes opening slowly and groggily.

Her heart just about stopped and her whole body seized with terror.  
The angel right there, watching her, standing in the open doorway.  
Staring at her.  
Cassidy let out a scream, blinking hard and vigorously rubbing her eyes.

"Woah, woah, woah…Cass! Are you alright?"  
The apprentice archaeologist blinked again, opening her eyes once more.  
Where the angel statue had once stood, Omar was now standing. The wiry security guard pointed his torch in the door, looking a little confused.

"H-Hi Omar…"  
"You ok, Cass? I heard you scream."  
"Yeah, yeah…I'm fine. I just fell asleep at my desk. Had a stupid night terror. I'll be alright."  
The security guard nodded, saluting her. "Ah, ok. That's cool. Holler if you actually need anything. Louisa was looking for you by the way. She's down by the exhibits on the fourth floor."

Cassidy thanked Omar and let him set off ahead of her.  
She was about to leave herself when her eyes fell upon something new on her desk. Her jaw slackened at the sight of a single red, wild rose laying atop her notes.  
Carefully, Cassidy took up the rose and inspected it. It was definitely picked from the wild- laden with thorns and its stem frayed and moist. However, the petals were the most perfect shade of deep red that she'd ever seen.

A smile broke out across her face.  
Had Louisa left it there? Or maybe even,_ Leon_?  
Whoever had, they had certainly brightened up her day and her little night terror was instantly forgotten.

She rushed off to see her first culprit, grinning from ear to ear when she found her standing on the fourth floor, right next to the room where the angel statue had been on display.

"Hey Lou! Lou! Check out this rose somebody left me! Was it you? You are _such_ a sneaky-…Lou?"

The receptionist had her back turned.  
Immediately, Cassidy could feel that something was wrong.

"Lou are you alright?"  
She put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Lou, talk to me. What's up?"

Louisa Fitzhugh turned around, her eyes wide and staring, her lips trembling and her entire body quivering. The young woman looked terrified beyond reason.  
Cassidy felt her own legs start to shake.

"L-Louisa. What's the matter? What happened?"

She tried to reach out to touch Louisa's shoulder but her hand was quickly pushed away. Cassidy inhaled sharply; her friend's skin was freezing cold.  
Like stone.

"C-Cassidy? Cassidy…I…I…can't…_Ten." _

"You can't _ten_?" Cassidy repeated. "What do you mean, Lou?"

Louisa looked to her with a kind of seriousness that didn't suit the young woman's round, usually carefree face. "Cassidy. I…I…heard something coming from inside the exhibition room so I went inside. _Nine." _

"Nine?"

"I…I…s-saw…the angel…and it was- _eight- _it…oh God….it looked…it _looked_…s_even." _

Cassidy's entire body had stopped working. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribcage that she was surprised that the bones had shattered yet.

"Louisa, you have to relax. J-Just calm down for a m-moment," she tried her hardest to sound soothing despite her own anxiety, slowly consuming her. "What do you mean? And why are you counting down?"

"_S-six…_the angel looked right at me…and its eyes…oh fucking Christ, its eyes…I couldn't look away."

Cassidy squeezed the stem of the rose so hard against her palm that the thorns pierced the soft pads of her hand and set her blood dripping in crimson streams, meandering in macabre estuaries along her knuckles. "Why are you counting down, L-Lou?" she repeated.

"I…It did s-something…it…it went inside of me…I tried to…f_ive…._I mean, I tried to get away b-but it was always there…"

With her free hand, Cassidy tried to reach out to touch Louisa again, her voice now strangled by pure, undiluted fear of the unknown. "Come on, Lou. W-we have to go somewhere else. L-Let's go and get Omar or one of the other s-security guards and I'll d-drive us h-home. Or you can stay with me tonight…"

Louisa stepped away from her touch, her eyes wide and glassy as she shook her head vigorously, suddenly shaking even more violently than before, her teeth chattering as she spoke.

"Y-you can't d-do anything n-now…Cass…y-you just have to…_four…_you just have to get away…"

"What? Get away?"

"_Three…_it's n-n-not what it seems. I-It's never what it s-seems…"

"Louisa! Stop it! Come on! J-Just come with me!"

"Ah! Jesus Christ…it's…it's in my eyes…it's coming for me…and it's coming for you, Cass. D-Don't let y-your guard d-down…_two…_"

"L-Lou?"

"And w-whatever you do…don't blink…_one…" _

Louisa fell to the floor, her eyes wide and staring, her body twitching and convulsing before finally laying still.

It wasn't until the security guards were flooding the hallway, Omar grabbing her, shaking her and hugging her, that Cassidy Albright realised that she was screaming.

* * *

**The song "Eternal Flame" is sung by Bangles and I do not claim ownership of any kind over its (admittedly amazing) lyrics.  
**


	4. IV

Louisa Fitzhugh died that night.

The next few hours following her best friend's collapse were blurry for Cassidy Albright. When she played the events of the evening back in her mind, it was like a black and white silent movie flashing before her eyes.  
Omar was shaking her, holding her by the shoulders, demanding to know what had happened. Then she was on the floor next to Louisa, slapping her face, tears spilling down her own cheeks as she desperately tried to wake her friend.

Then they were in an ambulance with Louisa, watching as plastic tubes criss-crossed around her body, her head flopping drunkenly from side to side with each bump of the road. A man in a dark blue shirt was telling that "everything would be alright."

"_I was certain…I was __**so**__ certain," Cassidy found herself thinking. "That it was the angel's left arm covering his eyes when we found it. I would have remembered a detail as important as that. I __**never **__make those kinds of basic mistakes. Not even when I'm excited…"_

Then they were in the A&E section of the hospital. She could remember being roughly grabbed by a nearby nurse and ushered into a waiting area. She was screaming something- _pleading-_ as her friend was wheeled down a distant corridor.  
Now it was a woman in a green shirt who was telling her that "everything would be alright."  
A childhood prayer ghosted over Cassidy's lips.  
She needed that kind of blind comfort at that moment.  
_"Angel sent by God to guide me…be my light and walk beside me…"  
_She thumbed her phone, wondering if she should text anyone to tell them about Louisa.

_She remembered the children screaming and running from the room.  
They said that the angel had moved.  
Perhaps they it had just been their imagination.  
But then…could imagination alone really drive an entire group of twenty children to complete hysteria?  
The security tapes in the room, according to Omar and Leon, had glitched at the time of the incident.  
There was no way to prove that they were telling the truth.  
There was no way to prove that they were lying either. _

A doctor walked out of the surgery, ashen faced and sullen with his head hung low, only minutes after Louisa's parents had arrived.  
Louisa Fitzhugh was pronounced dead at 10:45pm that evening.  
Cassidy could remember breaking into tears and being held by a stranger to comfort her. She could also remember covering her ears to block out Mrs Fitzhugh's howling and Mr Fitzhugh's cursing.

_Louisa had said something about other employees having seen the statue move.  
Something about rumours going around the museum of the statue being able to move when no one was watching.  
Cassidy had never felt so frightened of her own psyche when she found her most prominent thought to be:  
"But I was around the angel the most. Why has he never moved in front of __**me**__?" _

The funeral and burial took place two days later.  
Cassidy could remember standing at an open grave-side, wearing her mother's black suit jacket and the pencil skirt that she wore for her very first interview with Doctor Hewitt. She thought he would have at least shown up for the funeral too, but there was no sign of him anywhere in the crowd of mourners.

She didn't know why she had even bothered with make-up that morning. Any mascara that had been on her eyelashes was now trailing down both cheeks.  
Her body was weak with grief and her mind was battered with anxiety.

_She could remember Abbie holding on to her, her little hands grasping at her neck and her little voice, shrill with urgency and warning.  
__**"He likes to watch you when you're sleeping…"  
**__The angel had apparently told her that himself, in a dream.  
Maybe Leon was right: maybe Abbie's imagination had just run away with her.  
That said, what on earth would possess a child to imagine something so disturbing? Abbie had never said anything like that to her before.  
_

The coffin was lowered into the ground.  
Cassidy did her very best to ignore the fact that her best friend was in that coffin and she just about managed a weak but grateful smile to all those strangers who clapped her on the back and squeezed her shoulders to show their condolences.  
She didn't want their sympathy though. At that very moment, her mind was not on Louisa being dead. It was on Louisa's last few moments.

"_C-Cassidy? Cassidy…I…I…can't…Ten.  
_She had turned around with such a look of fear in her eyes that Cassidy herself was instantly thrust into shock. _  
_

"_Cassidy. I…I…heard something coming from inside the exhibition room so I went inside. Nine."  
_What had she heard? Had there been someone in there?_  
"I…I…s-saw…the angel…and it was- eight- it…oh God….it looked…it looked…seven."  
_The angel? What about the angel? _  
_

"_S-six…the angel looked right at me…and its eyes…oh fucking Christ, its eyes…I couldn't look away."  
_Its _eyes_? But its eyes were covered. _  
_

"_I…It did s-something…it…it went inside of me…I tried to…five….I mean, I tried to get away b-but it was always there…"  
_What did she mean?_  
_

"_Y-you can't d-do anything n-now…Cass…y-you just have to…four…you just have to get away…"  
_Get away from what? The angel?_  
_

"_Three…it's n-n-not what it seems. I-It's never what it s-seems…"  
_If it's not what it seems then what is it? _  
_

"_Ah! Jesus Christ…it's…it's in my eyes…it's coming for me…and it's coming for you, Cass. D-Don't let y-your guard d-down…two…"  
_It was in her eyes? What did that mean? And what did she mean when she said it was "coming for" her?_  
_

_"And w-whatever you do…don't blink…one…"  
_Don't blink?

Cassidy's mind was a tumultuous maelstrom of questions as she walked away from the crowd, deliberately avoiding the other mourners as she navigated her way through the maze of polished headstones.  
She flinched, almost walking straight into a tall, blue, old-fashioned police call-box, positioned right at the edge of the walkway into the church.  
She was just thinking that it was a rather bizarre place to put a police call-box and wondering why she had never noticed it there before when the door suddenly swung open, almost hitting her.

"W-woah there," a young man stuttered, stumbling out of the door. He raked his fingers through his dark brown hair and adjusted his rather oddly-placed red bow-tie as he looked to her. "Oh…oh, s-sorry. I apologise. Just…er…"  
His eyes scanned her from head to toe, obviously noticing her mourning clothes- if not her extremely dishevelled choice of make-up.

Cassidy herself was just wondering what exactly the man had been doing in the police box that he had left it with such anxiousness and haste when a pretty young woman stumbled out behind him.  
"What are you doing, standing in the doorway like that, Doctor?" she demanded to know with a chuckle. "We're not on another plan-.." Her eyes fell on Cassidy. "O-Oh…hello…"

Cassidy frowned internally.  
Snogging in a police box…in a grave yard…during a funeral.  
Yes, that was a sign of incredible class.  
Surprising too, as they both looked like rather respectable individuals.

The man closed the door of the police box quickly, locking it and mumbling something vague about "police-box inspections" before looking to the other mourners who were drifting past.  
"I…uh…I'm sorry," he repeated, looking back to Cassidy. "For your loss. Were you ever very close to…?"  
The man's voice trailed off, his brow furrowing as he appeared to be studying Cassidy's face.  
She took a step back slightly, feeling a little invaded by this strange man's sudden curiosity.  
Her make-up hadn't stained her face _that_ badly, had it?

"She was my best friend," she managed to say bluntly, self-consciously wiping her face with the back of her sleeve.  
The woman promptly nudged her male companion in the arm, looking a little annoyed before looking to Cassidy with a kind smile. "I'm very sorry about your loss too."  
She suddenly looked like she wanted to apologise for the man's behaviour but before she could say anything, he spoke again.

"Have we met before?"  
_"Doctor!_" His female companion prodded him with annoyance. _"Leave her alone! Now is not the time! Can't you see she's-?"  
_But the "doctor" didn't seem to be listening. "What is your name?"

"Cassidy Albright," she answered, her mind far too numb to even question the practicality of introducing oneself to weird people involved in intimate operations in a police box, in a grave-yard.

"Hmm…I think we've met before, Cassidy…"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I think…I'd remember meeting you…Mr?"  
"Doctor."  
"Dr-?"

Before the man could say anything else, there was a faint beeping sound coming from the inner part of his suit jacket. "Ah…"  
He fumbled inside his tweed lapel, apparently turning something off and shaking his head. "Nevermind…nevermind…" He beckoned to his female companion. "Come along, Clara. We'd better get going."  
The Doctor looked back to Cassidy once again with a half-smile. "We'll talk again."

"Clara", as she had been dubbed, had just enough time to give her a final apologetic smile before being tugged away by her Doctor friend.

Cassidy shook her head, walking back around the church.  
Strange as their encounter had been, it had been a welcome distraction, but now that it was over, her heart was heavy with grief again.  
Had she actually met that man before?  
If he was a doctor than perhaps he was a friend of Hewitt's who she had met at the museum before?

Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a sudden painful throbbing in her temples.  
The museum was the last thing that she wanted to think about at that very moment in time.  
Just as she was getting into a taxi to head home, her heart jolted in her chest.  
Standing on one of the roof ledges of the church was an angel statue.

An angel statue that almost looked exactly like _her _angel statue.  
Only for that both of its arms were outstretched.  
Open and either offering or seeking a comforting embrace.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked.  
Cassidy pushed every other thought to furthest corner of her mind and concentrated on giving the man directions back to her house.

There was no way it could have been the same statue.  
Grief was just pushing her to her limits.  
She feared just exactly how far it could push her.

* * *

"Albright, Albright, Albright," the doctor repeated, shaking his head as they walked. "Why is that name so familiar?"

Clara frowned deeply. "The girl had just walked out of her best friend's _funeral_ and you were there gawking at her as if she had three heads. I ought to have slapped you just for that. The poor thing looked fit to start crying again."  
The doctor squirmed at this threat but sighed, waving a hand. "I've definitely met that girl somewhere before."

"Well she didn't seem to know who you were."  
"Ah, that is because she probably hasn't met me _yet._ I've probably met her at some point in her future. You know…because time isn't linear…"  
"Yes, yes, yes…I know. I _know_. You've explained it before. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey and all that…"

Clara smirked a little, nudging the doctor as they walked. "Perhaps she's one of your past lovers? One of the _many_ famous women to captivate the doctor?"  
He grimaced at the word "many" and shook his head. "No, no, no…nothing like that…I'd _remember_ if she were someone like that. No…Cassidy Albright just seemed…familiar."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "A good kind of familiar or a bad kind of familiar?"  
The doctor exhaled, furrowing his brow and watching as the young, blonde-haired woman climbed into a taxi across the road. "I'm not sure yet." He narrowed his eyes. "I just feel as if I should be telling her something. Something important."

He noticed her looking out the window, feeling a shudder run through him and turned quickly to follow her gaze to the roof of the church.  
But there was nothing there.  
When he turned back around, the taxi was gone.

"Something the matter?" Clara asked, worried for her eccentric, two-hearted friend.  
The doctor shook his head again. "Ah…yes, everything is fine…"  
"Did you remember what you had to tell her?"

"No. But if it's important, I will."  
_  
_


	5. V

**Thanks a million for the reviews and follows, guys! :D I promise that the Doctor and Clara will feature more heavily in upcoming chapters and I hope that you're liking Cassidy as a protagonist so far.  
Happy reading! **

* * *

Cassidy tugged a cardigan around her shoulders, folding the fluffy collar downward in order to stop it from tickling the bare skin of her neck. Her mother had knitted it for her when she was nine and it had been about four sizes too big.  
"You'll grow into it," she had assured her disgruntled daughter- who never thought for a second that her mother would one day be proved right.

"Not as bad as before," she thought, inspecting herself in the glass of the bathroom mirror. The dark circles and lines around her eyes were starting to fade, her face had almost completely regained its colour and when she scraped all of her long blonde hair back into a ponytail, she no longer had prominent stress-veins sticking out like fat, blue serpents on her temples.  
She crept down the stairs as quietly as she could, hoping not to wake her mother. The elderly woman had fallen asleep on the sofa again the night before and knowing how much her ill mother needed her rest, Cassidy couldn't have brought herself to stir her.

"Are you sure you're alright to be heading back to work already? It's early."

_Damn. _  
Cassidy rolled her eyes and walked into the sitting room, shaking her head.  
"Mum," she sighed with a slight smile, stooping to kiss her mother's powdery, wrinkled cheek. "You're _right. _It's early. It's like seven forty-five. You should get back to sleep."  
Maria Albright frowned stubbornly and lifted a hand to tuck a stray, flossy tendril of hair behind her daughter's ear.  
"Oi. Last time I checked, I was the mummy and I was the one telling you when to go back to sleep." Her face softened and she coughed throatily. "And that's not what I meant. Love, it's only been two weeks since…" The old woman's voice trailed off for a moment, suddenly re-animating again. "If the museum is offering you more time off with pay…"

Now it was Cassidy's turn to look stubborn. "I need to get back to my statue."  
She stood up straight. "The presentation is tonight. It's a big night both for me and for the exhibit. Dr Hewitt hasn't gotten back to me about actually showing up and no one knows that exhibit better than me, anyway." She swallowed, ignoring the stinging feeling in the corners of her eyes. "Lou…was really happy…for me…when she heard about the exhibition…she'd want me to do it."  
"If you say so, poppet," Maria murmured, nodding. "Do a good job, kiddo." The woman keeled over slightly, her breathing wrenched by hacking coughs for a moment before she recovered, her face falling slightly. "I…I wish I could go to see your speech for myself."  
"It's alright, Mum," Cassidy said quickly dashing any possible melancholic rambles. It hurt enough to know that the only woman who was more proud of the exhibit than she was probably wasn't even going to able to see it properly on the night of its official opening; she didn't need to be reminded. "It'll probably be really boring anyway. Just a lot of stuffy historians and chatty journalists trying to take pictures. Get plenty of rest and don't forget to take your medication."  
Another kiss on the cheek was offered and accepted and with that, an aloof daughter left her proud mother.  
Both were wearing the same absent-minded, half-smile.

* * *

Cassidy headed straight to the main office when she reached the museum.  
The reasoning behind her destination was twofold.  
Firstly, Curator Stanford had firmly requested that she check in with him before returning to work.  
However she was also there because she needed to see a security guard as soon as possible. She wanted immediate access to the tapes of the exhibition room on the night when Louisa died.  
Her friend's enigmatic final words had concerned nothing else but the angel. For the past two weeks, she had simply replayed the scene in her mind. Over and over, each new viewing of the scene raising another thousand questions.  
But now, after two weeks of grieving, she was done with questions.  
Cassidy wanted answers now. _  
_

She was obstinately prepared to demand to see a security guard if needs be, but that wasn't necessary at all. Omar was waiting outside of Stanford's office, looking strangely alien without his usual royal blue security guard's uniform.  
"_Cass_," he said with a breathy, shocked sigh as he caught sight of her. "Jesus, Cass, I didn't think you'd be back in so soon…" He furrowed his brow. "Fuck…I know how close you were to Lou. I…I'm so sorry, Cass."  
His arms automatically opened for the mandatory comforting hug, which she accepted somewhat awkwardly, shuffling in her converse runners.  
"Y-Yeah, well," Cassidy managed to say quickly, ignoring the prickling feeling in the corners of her eyes. "I…I just wanted to get back to normality you know. Get the presentation done and start to get my life back on track again. You know what I'm like. Happiest when I'm busy."  
She stepped back from Omar and forced herself to laugh flippantly, not wanting to cry in front of the security guard. She was sick of people pitying her. She missed Lou, but she hadn't been rendered helpless.

"Look, Cass," Omar began, starting the mandatory support speech that everyone is required to give to bereaved individuals. "If there's anything that I can do to help you settle back in at all, just s-…"  
"Actually," Cassidy cut across him. "I know this is probably a bit of a weird request and…I'm sorry for asking but…is there any chance that I could have a look at the security tapes from the night that Lou…" She swallowed, suddenly unable to say what she had meant to. "The night that Lou was taken to the hospital."  
Omar frowned, his brow creasing and he was about to answer, when suddenly two police officers walked briskly from Stanford's office, passing the museum workers with complete nonchalance.

Cassidy raised an eyebrow, watching the two black-jackets as they walked away. "What are the police here for?"  
Omar's face became sullen and he shook his head.

"The disappearances."  
"_Disappearances?!"_ Cassidy's eyebrows shot upward into her hairline. "What disappearances?"

"A lot happened in the last two weeks, Cass," Omar went on, dropping his voice and moving closer to her. "There have been missing persons' reports. Now, I know a missing person's report is nothing new in London but so far, five of them have been tied to the museum…"  
"How have they been tied to the museum?" she demanded to know, following suit and lowering her voice to a whisper.  
"All five of the people have been traced to having last been seen at the museum. Darrow and Hewitt haven't been checking in with work recently either. Darrow hasn't been into work in three weeks and Hewitt never arrived in McIntosh's lab in Glasgow. They're currently running investigations into both of their whereabouts."  
"Wh-what? You can't be serious."  
Cassidy's heartbeat had gone from beating so quickly that she could have sworn it was humming, to beating so slowly that her entire body suddenly felt as though she was no longer fully alive.

Omar nodded. "I'm completely fucking serious, Cass. Seven people in total. One of them is a minor. Missing and every single disappearance is somehow connected to the museum."  
Cassidy shook her throbbing head, not wanting to even contemplate the significance of this revelation.  
"But…the people…they couldn't have just disappeared. Haven't they checked the security cameras? Can't they just trace what happened to them? Where they were last seen?"

"That's why I can't help you with the tapes, Cass," Omar insisted, grabbing her shoulder and looking her in the eye. "That's why Stanford's called all the security guards in this morning. There's _nothing _on the security tapes. Everything is _gone_. The tapes are completely blank."  
Cassidy blinked, her eyes widening. "No. That's not possible. Are you sure it's not just a glitch? You said the security cameras were acting wei-…"  
"This is no fucking glitch. The cameras have gone from being trippy to just recording nothing. Ever since the night Louisa…_passed_." Omar bit his lip, looking upwards and taking a deep inhale. "Ever since that night, the cameras haven't recorded a single thing. Stanford wanted to close the museum because of the lack of security until the fucking problem's been sorted out but the Museum Board won't let him because of the funds they'll lose." He sighed gruffly. "They just want the security guards to start working in wider, twenty-four hour shifts…"

"So you're saying there's no footage on the security tapes, whatsoever? Nothing at all?"  
"There's _nothing, _Cass." Omar didn't let go of Cassidy's shoulder for a second, his grip slowly tightening as his eyes met hers once more. "Look, I'm not trying to freak you out but Jesus Christ, we didn't have any of these problems until that bloody st-…"

The door of Curator Stanford's office opened and the balding middle-aged man poked his head around the polished frame, his eyes widening slightly as they fell upon Cassidy.

"Ah, Miss Albright. Welcome back." He looked to Omar. "If you don't mind, Mr Ramokadi, I'll speak to Miss Albright first." Not waiting for Omar's response, the curator looked to her, beckoning her inside. "This will only take a moment."

The conversation with Stanford was watery as ever and the fact that he did not once bring up the running investigations that Omar had mentioned surprised Cassidy, while at the same time not surprising her at all.  
She could only imagine that the curator would be trying his very hardest to keep the whole situation as hushed as possible.

Despite the fact that every inch of her mind was suddenly slowly being pushed to the point of splintering, Cassidy forced herself to smile and nod, partaking in the mundane script set before her.

"_So then Miss Albright, how have you been?"  
"Fine, thank you."  
"Are you certain that you are ready to return to work?"  
"Yes, Mr Stanford."  
"The official opening and press conference for the angel statue exhibit is tonight. Since Dr Hewitt cannot be contacted at this time, are you prepared to make the main presentation yourself?"  
"Yes, Mr Stanford."  
"You don't have to do this, Miss Albright. We can arrange for another member of-…"  
"I'm prepared to make the presentation, Mr Stanford. I've been prepared to make this presentation for a long time now."  
"Alright then. Well, the statue has been moved back into the preparation room for any last minute checks that you'd like to make. Our PR officer has prepared a section of your main speech…"_

Not a single word regarding the disappearances or Louisa Fitzhugh's death passed between them and minutes later, Cassidy found herself walking the familiar route to the preparation room for the first time in two weeks.

There was a quiver in her step and her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door of the preparation room.  
For the first time in exactly fifteen days, her eyes fell upon the tall figure of stone who had pervaded her every dream and weighed heavily upon her every thought. Her mother had joked that she would begin to miss the statue, having not seen it in so long- but her mother was wrong.  
Cassidy Albright saw her angel- her Michael- whenever she closed her eyes.  
There were times when she awoke in the middle of the night and could have sworn for split seconds that the angel was standing in her room, at the foot of her bed, watching her.

But there he stood- for real this time.  
His eyes always covered as ever, as if silently weeping for reasons that those who looked upon him would never know.

The sight of the angel sent a jolt of cold fear through Cassidy's chest.  
"Michael…"

She murmured the name that she had christened him, ("him" still felt inexplicably more fitting than "it", in Cassidy's mind) , under her breath as she approached the statue with reverence. The low, buzzing light above her head cast flickering, dappled shadows across the angel's chest, wings and prominent jaw.  
"Louisa warned me to stay away from you," Cassidy found herself whispering as she approached him, her voice wavering but slow and tentative, as if trying to soothe a feral animal. "Abigail said that you could move." She gave a nervous laugh, leaning forward to carefully examine a few micro-fractures in the statue's outstretched, broad bicep. "I don't know what to believe, though." After a few moments of hesitation, Cassidy delicately thumbed one of the cracks, guiltily relishing the cool, smooth, stone skin of the seraph against her own. "I mean, if you were really capable of moving, why have I not seen you move yet? After all, I spend the most time with you."

The angel remained silent as ever and did not move an inch.  
Cassidy shook her head, smiling again. "What am I saying?"  
Bit by bit, she felt her initial fear melt away, leaving only the strange feelings of reverence and longing that she had always felt around the statue.  
In spite of everything, she could not bring herself to want to stay afraid of the statue and after two Panadol tablets for her headaches and a cup of black coffee, Cassidy had settled back into the rhythm of her work.

That was not to say that her mind wasn't still in tatters, but just being beside her angel, her _Michael_ and assuring herself that he was, indeed, just a statue, was enough to relieve her.  
Within minutes, she was chuckling to herself as she gently polished the angel's face. "You know, Michael? I think I know why, of all the statues I've restored and taken care of, you're my favourite." A smile had never felt so alien upon her face. "It's not just because I found you myself or because you're such a mystery or because you're _obviously_ extremely attractive for a man of marble…I think it's because when I was little, when my mother was in and out of the hospital, she used to always say that no matter where I was, whenever I felt frightened…I would always have a guardian angel looking after me…I think that's why I've always had a soft spot for angels."  
Cassidy's fingertips skimmed a hairline crack on the angel's outstretched palm. "Leon told me that he thinks that you're _my_ guardian angel, Michael. I don't know if he's right but I suppose I'd be grateful if you were. Are you really going to look after me? You're definitely nicer than any man I've ever met before. You're so easy to talk to. I mean, you're such a great listener and …I'm talking to a statue again, aren't I?"

She hung her head, loose tendrils of her hair falling limply around her face. "Maybe I really am going insane. Maybe I really _have_ lost my mind…"

_Unbeknownst to Cassidy Albright, the statue gazed upon her, his brow furrowing and his lips curled into a cruel grin, revealing his sharp, jagged teeth.  
"No, no, no, my deluded little human," the lonely assassin thought. "Your mind is not lost. It merely belongs to me now…"_

* * *

"Where are you Miss Albright?" the doctor hissed under his breath, starting to get frustrated. "Hmpf. Maybe a different spelling. A-L-B-R-I-G-H-T sounds right though, doesn't it? Or is she one of those who spells it A-L-B-R-I-T-E?" He frowned, tapping the new letter combinations into the TARDIS console, only for his search to bear no fruits once again. "Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Awh, bugger it…"

Clara Oswald bit back a slight chuckle at the doctor's frustration and shook her head, her long dark hair jostling at her shoulders. "_Still_ trying to figure out who exactly that girl from the church-yard was?" She leaned over his shoulder, examining the screen beneath the doctor's hands. "It's been almost three weeks."  
"I've searched _every_ inch of my files," he exclaimed, incredulously. "All of my stores, belongings, every single trunk and suitcase…and I've found _nothing_ about Cassidy Albright, yet I'm _positive _that I have met her before." He sighed, pouting like a toddler as he folded his arms. "I thought the TARDIS might have something in her data-core about our mystery woman but yet again, there's not a trace of her here." He furrowed his brow even further. "Perhaps my memory isn't what it used to be." The doctor grunted. "Gah! I'm getting old. Old and thick. Old and thick."

Clara laughed aloud, patting his shoulder and pulling her phone out. "Well, _old fellow_, if you're not quite ready to give up. I think _I_ may have some sourced something useful about Cassidy Albright through the magic of Google and the high tech archives known as Wikipedia."  
She slumped against the console, examining the search screen of her phone.

"According to this, her full name is Cassidy Catherine Rosalind Albright and she's an archaeologist working with the London Museum for three years now, under the renowned Doctor Ernst Hewitt."  
"Pft. Archaeologists."  
Clara cocked an eyebrow. "Got a problem with archaeologists?"  
He waved a hand. "I'm a time traveller. I laugh at archaeologists. Anyway, what else does the internet have to say about Miss Albright?"  
"Well, according to the search engine, she hasn't done much as an archaeologist yet. All it says is that she's recently co-ordinated a dig just outside of Nottingham and that she's managed to unearth some kind of statue. Anything tugging on your memory, doctor?"

The doctor tilted his head. "Nothing at all. Anything else?"  
Clara shrugged. "Just that she's giving some kind of presentation about the statue tonight, if you're at all interested in going."  
"Mmm, I'm not a huge fan of statues, I'll admit." The doctor sighed. "Perhaps I really don't know Cassidy Albright at all. If I really had something important to tell her, _surely_ I would have remembered by now."

Clara tucked her phone away and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "You'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure. You always do." She smiled. "Now, where did you say we were off to before lunch?"  
A familiar boyish and excited grin returned to the doctor's face as he sprang to life once more and all but skipped to the other side of the TARDIS console. "Oh, just wait until you see this. You'll never believe where and when we're bound."

* * *

Cassidy Albright checked her watch, getting a fright when she realised that she had precisely twenty minutes until the beginning of the presentation.  
She hadn't felt so nervous since her very first play in primary school. In reception class, she'd got the part of the angel Gabriel in the annual nativity play. She could remember needing the toilet as she stood at the side of stage and trembling so much that she could feel her teeth chattering in her mouth.  
What she felt right now wasn't far off that feeling at all.  
She rehearsed her speech in her head. She'd have flashcards in front of her on the lecturn but she didn't want to be dependent on them; Hewitt had always told her that they looked unprofessional.

"_Dr Hewitt, where are you? You couldn't have just vanished. Did you go where all those other people went?" _

Cassidy shook her head, refusing to let anything that she had heard earlier infringe upon her current thoughts and instead, concentrated on layering another coat of crimson nail polish on her right index finger.  
The room felt strangely lonely without her angel statue in the centre of the floor but Michael had to be moved back into the exhibition room. It was as if, in his absence, a watchful gaze was no longer on her.  
She took deep breaths to still her quivering fingers as she applied a thick line of eyeliner along the rim of her lashes, focusing on the hand mirror that she had managed to prop up on her work bench. She fumbled and freed a tube of red lipstick from the plastic bag at her side. Her pale, pink, (slightly chapped), lips were soon stained a deep scarlet, completing her, (somewhat), successful transformation from scruffy, scrappy little girl to a rouged and refined young woman.

Cassidy examined her face in the mirror, scraping back her fair hair into a loose, Roman-style bun, securing it with a faux rose-clip. She was silently amazed that she had managed to apply her own make-up and do her own hair without making herself look like a cross between a clown and a schoolgirl who had raided her mother's bathroom cabinet.  
"Look Mum," she whispered, running a hand down the side of her face. "I'm a pretty girl."

"_Of course,"_ a nasty, little voice in the back of her mind decided to remind her. _"It would have been easier to do all of your make-up if Louisa were still to help you, like she promised…" _

Cassidy sniffed, feeling her eyes starting to sting and wrinkling her nose, she tilted her head back.  
"No, no crying…that'll smudge the eyeliner…no crying…not now…not anymore…no…"

She took a step back from the work bench, testing her balance in her high heels and examining her reflection in the shiny, metallic cabinet doors for the last time.  
"Not too bad," she murmured aloud, having successfully stifled her tears. "Not too bad at all, Cass."

Edmund Potter was at the door of the preparation room, only moments later, set with the task of summoning her to the exhibition hall before the audience were let in.  
She was surprised when he offered her both congratulations and good-luck wishes but couldn't help but notice the stiffness in his voice.  
Clearly a case of sour grapes, Cassidy couldn't help but think with glee. Even after everything, Ed was still as sore as ever that it was her doing the presentation and not him.  
That said, Edmund had been one of the first to call her with comfort after Louisa's death so at least she could console herself with the knowledge that their rivalry didn't extend to outside work hours.

The exhibition room had been beautifully prepared for the event; the chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the glossy, mahogany podium.  
The stone angel statue stood, majestic and magnificent, atop the podium, comfortably near to the lecturn from which she would soon be speaking.  
She walked slowly up one of the aisles, her heels sounding out in even, resounding against the polished floor of the exhibition room.

She found her eyes lowering as she approached the statue, her breath catching in her throat. No matter how often she worked with the statue- cleaning him, repairing him, studying him- Cassidy always felt that it _commanded_ reverence.  
Once standing at the angel's feet, her head only barely reaching the angel's chin, she lifted a hand to place on his chest. Slowly, she brought her palm to press against Michael's bare stone pectoral- the other being covered by the drapes of his toga. She told herself that she was just reminding herself that the angel was nothing more than a stone statue, but soon, Cassidy found herself automatically stroking Michael's cool, smooth grey skin.  
She quickly reassured herself that she was doing it out of nerves.

Cassidy looked up into his chiselled face. "You're such a mystery. I'm not about to accuse a work of art of a crime or anything but…I keep thinking that you're hiding something…" She shook her head, smiling a little. "But I'm not going to pursue that tonight. Tonight, is very special for both of us. That day in the forest, when I found you- I told you that we were going to do wonderful things together. Well, I'm going to be remembered for this find. This is going to be the first major step in my career as an archaeologist…and you're going to become one of the crowning jewels of the museum's art collection."

Suddenly, she started to feel uncomfortably dizzy, her temples throbbing and her head spinning. She hung her head, dropping her gaze to the floor and her eyes widening. "What the…?"  
Upon the steps leading up to the podium, lay a single wild red rose- just like the one that she had found on her desk on the night of Louisa's death.  
Her entire body shaking, Cassidy stooped to take it up into her hand. "Who…? How…?"  
Until now, she had assumed that it was Louisa who had left the rose in her office on that fateful night. But if she was finding another rose now, it was impossible for the culprit to have been Louisa.

Cassidy's brows knitted together as she fingered the delicate red petals of the exquisite bloom.  
The flower had been obviously left for her to find and was identical to the one that she had found before. But who else in the museum could possibly have known her favourite flower?  
She had only ever talked about it with Louisa…

…and Leon Drake.

A smile of delight suddenly broke out across Cassidy's face. "It was Leon," she whispered breathily, her initial fear gave way to girlish excitement. "It was Leon who left me the ro-…"  
Before she could finish her happy soliloquy, the doors at the far end of the hallway were opened by two stewards, the journalists and general audience slowly starting to trickle through the door.

Cassidy quickly tucked the rose into the silk band of her dress and with butterflies in her stomach, she made her way back up the steps and took her place at the lecturn.  
She stole a sideways glance at the angel as the audience took their places.  
A spotlight draped her in bright yellow and despite knowing that there were over fifty pairs of eyes in the room, locked on her, Cassidy Albright felt as though there was truly only one pair of eyes looking at her.

* * *

"…and so, it gives me great pleasure to officially present the statue "Michael" by the unknown artist. May its enigmatic beauty continue to beguile visitors to the museum for many years to come. Thank you."

Cassidy finally allowed herself to take a deep breath, her cheeks hot and flushed as applause rippled throughout the room.  
An overwhelming sense of success and relief washed over her as she stumbled inelegantly down from the podium.

Amidst the flashing of cameras and a cacophony of journalists and art enthusiasts squawking with praise for the statue, Cassidy found herself being dragged into her own little circle of praise.  
Stanford, Edmund and several others from both within the museum and outside of it were already clapping her back and shaking her hand.

"Nice one, Cass. Good run for a first presentation. You didn't make too many mistakes at all."  
"Very well done, Miss Albright. Excellent work."  
"It's more than evident that you certainly love your work. It's refreshing to meet a young archaeologist with such enthusiasm for the history she's unearthed."  
"A dazzling piece…the restoration must have been a nightmare…kudos to you, Miss Albright."  
"Good job, Cass. You did us proud!"

All Cassidy could find herself doing was smiling, nodding and breathlessly thanking anyone who offered compliment or praise. She was just amazed at herself, marvelling at the fact that she had actually managed to make the speech in the first place.  
"And now if you'll all make your way to the Main Conference Hall," Stanford announced over the microphone. "There's a champagne reception and some food for you all to enjoy."

The crowd started to gradually filter out of the doors but immediately, Cassidy whipped her head around- her eyes falling upon the angel statue.  
It was the strangest feeling she had ever endured but Cassidy instantly felt as though she should return to the statue. She wasn't sure why exactly.  
All she knew was that the idea of leaving the statue alone filled her with an awful kind of dread.

She was just about to make a beeline for the angel once more when Leon appeared, putting his hand upon her shoulder.  
"That was a really great speech, Cass," he praised warmly, grinning widely. "I think you really made a great impression on the journalists. They're all already buzzing about the statue." He winked. "Celebratory champagne time? We can't pop the first bottle without the star of the show present."

Cassidy blinked, feeling her cheeks grow warm with girlish blush. She managed a polite smile for Leon but her eyes did not leave the angel statue.  
"W-well, that's unfortunate because Michael over there, is the real star of this exhibit and he can't exactly come with us for a champagne reception…"  
The tour guide rolled his eyes in a bemused way. "Well, I'm sure that Mr Michael won't be too disappointed if you have a glass of champagne on his behalf." He offered his arm to Cassidy.

She finally tore her eyes from the statue, her heart giving a flutter as she accepted Leon's arm and she looked up at him. "I suppose not."  
It was as she left at the side of the dashing security guard that Cassidy suddenly felt as though she was being watched again.  
However, this time she could feel the gaze burning into the bare skin of her neck.  
Whoever was watching her was furious with her…  
...and terrified that her suspicions as to who it was would be confirmed, Cassidy did not turn around to glance behind.

With a champagne glass cradled neatly in her hand, she was soon walking around the gallery rooms at Leon's side. Finally properly alone with her crush, (and clad in something far better than a scruffy lab coat or faded gingham shirt), since the first day they had met , the young woman felt as bright and bubbly as the golden liquid in her glass.  
"…and this room is where the majority of the museum's Ancient Greek artwork is kept."  
Cassidy giggled at Leon's regal tour-guide tone of voice. "I see, I see. Mmm, I have a particular love for Greek mythology. It was the very first thing that I started studying when I took up history in University." She smiled, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "Do you have a favourite Greek myth, Leon? You must know tons of them, working as a tour guide…"

Leon shrugged. "Not really. It wouldn't be a huge area of interest for me. I don't really know the details of any of them."  
Feeling a little stupid for bring it up and quite disappointed with Leon's less-than-enthusiastic reaction, Cassidy nodded, coughing a little. "Ah…ah, alright. I suppose, I'm just a little bit of a geek for the Greeks then." She laughed nervously, cursing herself for coming out with such a ridiculous line.  
However, Leon smiled kindly. "I think it's kind of cool how you're so into such obscure things. Do you have a favourite myth?"  
Cassidy came to stop in front of a single white-marble statue, looking up at the two familiar forms. "This one. Uh…that is, this statue represents my favourite myth. Eros and Psyche."  
"Oh…yeah, this one is called "The Ascension of Psyche." I never knew the story behind it though. That guy, though…" Leon pointed at the male figure. "That bloke is Eros, right? He's like the Greek version of Cupid?"  
"Yes," Cassidy nodded, sipping at her champagne and allowing the astringent bite of the liquid to slow her heart rate. "Well, Cupid is more like the Roman version of Eros. Eros was the first of the two. He's the son of Aphrodite and the god of lust, flirtation, desire…everything involved in falling in love…"

Leon gave a chuckle that sent warmth to Cassidy's cheeks once more. "Ah…he'd be a fun guy to have around then…ok, so if this fellow is Eros then I'm guessing the lady on his hip must be Psyche?"  
"Yeah, that's Psyche. She was born human but eventually became the goddess of the mind."  
"And I'm guessing from the suggestiveness of the statue that she was romantically involved with the Greek cupid?"  
Cassidy nodded, smiling again. "Yes. She was his wife. He fell deeply in love with her whilst she was still a human and married her in secret. It was only after performing a number of tasks for the gods that she became a goddess herself. I suppose I like the story because it's one of the few Greek love-stories that doesn't end in tragedy…"  
"Just playing the devil's advocate here," Leon laughed, taking a gulp of the wine in his glass. "But if he was a god, then why did they have to marry in secret?"  
"Well," Cassidy continued, not at all liking how blunt Leon was being, despite the tender mood that she was trying to create. "Psyche was still a human when Eros fell in love with her. A god being in love with mortal human would have been frowned upon…it was considered unnatural and immoral. So Eros had Psyche stolen away from her home, her family and her friends and had her taken to a beautiful palace in the far away mountains, where he married her in secret…but there was a catch…"  
"Oh? A catch? Do tell."  
"Psyche was never allowed to look upon Eros. Eros was so afraid that they would be found out and that Psyche would accidently tell someone that she was married to a god, he never allowed her to look at him."  
"…so she had no clue who she was married to?"  
"Not at first." Cassidy couldn't help but giggle a little. "He commanded his servants never to light the lamps in the rooms where they were permitted to meet…and their bedroom was always in complete darkness…I just think it's funny that for the first year of their marriage, she had no idea what the man who touched her every night looked like…"

It was only after the words had left her mouth, that Cassidy realised how childish and stupid she sounded. After desperately wanting to sound knowledgeable and professional in front of her handsome co-worker, she just ended up sounding like a complete and utter nerd, spitting racy Greek stories without restraint.  
Leon raised an eyebrow at this but retained his kind smile, shaking his head with a chuckle. "I can imagine how that could cause a few relationship difficulties…"

Cassidy swallowed as silence settled between them once more, abruptly deciding that it was now or never. The two of them were finally alone together and she might not ever get a better chance to say what she needed to.  
"I…I wore it."

"Hm?" Leon looked down at her. "Wore what?"  
"The…the rose. The rose you left for me. I wore it in my belt tonight. I lost the first one on the night that Louisa was taken to hospital…I'm sorry, I think I may have dropped it in the ambulance…"  
"What? A rose? Cass…" his eyebrows arched as confusion stole over his features. "Cass, I'm sorry but I've never left you a rose. It must have been someone else."  
Pure embarrassment set Cassidy's mouth off, spilling words with no abandon again. "Oh? W-well, uh…I'm sorry…I just thought…well, no one else other than you and Louisa could have known my favourite flower is a rose…I just thought that when you left me the rose, maybe it was your way of telling me…" Her voice trailed off, when for the first time, she noticed the pitying look in Leon's eyes.

That horrible, awkward, sympathetic stare.  
"Cass…I…"  
He didn't need to go any further but he kept talking and reluctantly, with humiliated tears slowly building behind her eyes, Cassidy listened.

"Cass, I'm flattered that you feel that way about me but I…"

* * *

_How dare that pathetic little human? _

_How dare she leave his side when he called for her?  
_

_Fury coursed through the veins of the lonely assassin as he watched his human slave- his __**pet**__- leave the room beside that irksome male.  
Of course it had not entirely been his little Cassidy Albright's fault. It was not her fault that her poor, weak, naïve mind had been so easily seduced to the wills of such an ignorantly brash suitor.  
Deep down inside, he knew it would be all too easy to eradicate this filthy human from his slave's life.  
He wouldn't even have to send him into the past and consume his life energy; he had already had many a good meal since he had come to this place of human gathering. Now he was strong again.  
Strong and satiated.  
He could just snap the male human's neck as easily as a piece of dead wood or smash his skull in, breaking the flesh and bone in one hard squeeze.  
Yes, he thought with malign glee. That __**would**__ be an entertaining sight to see.  
_

_His iron patience soon wore off once more.  
With the slow return of his quantum locking instinct, his little human stumbled back through the doors of the hall where he had been kept.  
It was dark. It was quiet.  
He sensed that the majority of the other humans had left the building now. _

_He watched as she moved through the doors, no direction in her movements and some kind of sorrow seeming to weight her every step.  
He watched her as she slumped against the door frame for a moment, covering both eyes and starting to cry._

_For a moment, he was overtaken by both feelings of amusement and disdain.  
With her hair bound back and gathered at the crown of her head, a flowing dress falling around her small frame and her head pressed into her hands as she wept…_

…_she almost looked like one of his kind. _

_He watched her lithe silhouette with fierce intent until the beautiful illusion was shattered by his human's moving once again.  
Her clumsy, ungraceful gait was more ungainly than usual, he noted. As though she had difficulty walking.  
It was when he realised just how vulnerable his little human was that his hunger reached its peak.  
_

_Tonight.  
Tonight would be the night.  
He had played with his prey for long enough. The angels were patient sadists but alas, patient sadists with needs.  
It was time to claim what was his. _

* * *

"I should have known!"  
Cassidy wiped her eyes, hiccupping slightly.

After her third glass of champagne, she knew that she had had far too much to drink but that didn't stop her from taking a fourth.  
She had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life and alcohol seemed to numb the awful feeling of being completely shot down by Leon Drake.

"I cannot _believe_ I started talking about Greek fairytales! He…he must think I'm either raving mad or some pathetic little swot who lives in her own fantasy world," she muttered aloud, trying desperately not to slur her words.  
She was now, (clumsily), treading the blurry line between drunkenness and sobriety.  
A glass of red wine was enough to get her tipsy; were four glasses of champagne the equivalent of one glass of red wine? Or was she worse than usual?

It was long after closing time.  
The entire party, (including Leon), had gone home and now the only other people in the museum were the three security guards playing black-jack in the canteen- equipped with a grand total of no working security cameras.

Completely inebriated, Cassidy made her way up to her angel statue.  
Her Michael.

"Well Michael…Leon now officially thinks I'm crazy…not only does he apparently _not_ fancy me at all…but he actually has a very pretty girlfriend called Shauna…" She gave a dry, cynical laugh. "He even showed me photographs of her on his phone, in case I thought he was lying…I know, charming right?"  
She wandered up to the statue's feet, looking up into the angel's smooth, stone visage.

"Why are you crying, Michael?" she asked softly. "I'm telling you all about my problems and I never asked you why you're crying. You're always crying…but I forgot to ask you why. I'm so sorry…" She sniffed. "I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"  
Unable to think straight, Cassidy found herself laughing aloud again.  
"You know what. Screw Leon. Seriously. Fuck him." She smirked drunkenly, pouting her dark red lips and wrapping her arm loosely around the angel's neck. "You're my one true love, Michael. You're the one that I want. People tell me that I'm in love with my work…well, maybe I am." She leaned up, her lips ghosting the angel's before she laughed aloud. "You're so _hot_. You're the most handsome man that I've ever seen before in my entire life. I don't care if you're a statue…I think you're just amazing…" For a frightening moment, even in her drunken haze, Cassidy was unsure whether or not she was speaking seriously or still just playing around to make herself feel better.

She leaned up, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I want you, Michael. Take me away from here."  
And with that, she leaned up and kissed the angel's lips- her soft, warm lips meshing against the angel's cold, stone ones.

Having to break away to laugh at her own stupidity, Cassidy stumbled backwards, tripping over her own heels and falling on to the floor. "Heh…I'm sorry…I'm not usually this-…"

Cassidy looked up at the angel and her voice was suddenly rendered useless.  
Her blood ran cold, her breath seized and her heart just about stopped.

The angel statue was still standing above her but his arm was no longer draped across his eyes. It was at his side.  
The statue had _moved. _

The massive stone seraph was now staring down at her with sightless, blank stone eyes and a sneer on his thin lips.  
His face, as Cassidy had imagined it in both her most vivid dreams and most haunting nightmares, was eerily handsome. So perfect yet so utterly inhuman, each chiselled feature accentuated with dark exquisiteness.  
But the glare.  
The look in his eyes.  
It sent a bolt of terror through her.

"Wh-what…?"

For a few moments, all Cassidy could do was stare up at the statue in pure and utter horror- wondering if she was the victim of some terrible prank or so drunk that she had started to hallucinate.  
Swallowing back against her dry throat and curling her nails against the wood of the podium- part of Cassidy's mind confirming that this was, indeed, all real.

Breathing heavily, she simply stared up at the angel- her features overdrawn with fear and awe.

Then Cassidy Albright broke the most important rule of dealing with the beings known as the Weeping Angels.

Cassidy Albright blinked.


	6. VI

**Thanks again for all the reviews, follows and favourites, guys!  
Hope you enjoy the next chapter. **

* * *

When Cassidy Albright opened her eyes once more, the angel statue was right next to her, staring down at her with a menacing stare.

"You moved," she breathed, fear suddenly forcing her into sobriety once more. "You _moved_."  
Her angel statue had moved and Cassidy could hardly believe it. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest and her fingers curled against the polished floor. The nail polish that she had so carefully applied earlier grazed and chipped against the surface of the podium.  
She dared not look away from the statue lest it moved again and she missed it.  
With quivering legs and arms like wet ribbons, Cassidy attempted to stand up, watching the angel all the while.  
He did not make any movement to stop her from moving and not even daring to breathe, she slowly started to move backwards.

"Ah!"  
She stumbled on one of the steps, falling in her high heels.  
For a split second, her eyes left the statue as she scrambled back to her feet but when her eyes returned to the statue, a shrill scream escaped her lips.

The statue had moved again.  
The stone angel was right in front of her once more- now standing bolt upright, his huge arms at his sides and his fists clenched…his eyes still firmly locked on hers.

"N-No…"  
There was no this could really be happening, Cassidy told herself.  
This was the kind of thing that happened in fairytales and on television.  
But this was neither. This was the real world and this was _really_ happening.

For a wild moment, she considered the possibility of her being the victim of a horrible prank. But that would be virtually impossible. There was no way someone could move and mould a creature of stone so quickly.  
And this was no replacement statue.  
No.  
Cassidy knew every last inch of her stone angel.  
She was well-versed in every last crack, crevice and contour of Michael's body and now as she studied his face, staring down at her, she knew that this _was_ the statue that she had found in the forest that day.

Cassidy took another step backwards, moving further away and blinking once more.  
Again, the angel moved closer and Cassidy's heart leapt into her mouth. This time, his arm was outstretched, his fingertips bare centimetres from her exposed neck.

"_He's moving,"_ thought Cassidy, her mind panicked and torn by terror. _"The angel statue can move and he's following me. All those rumours were true. Louisa had tried to warn me about the statue. Abbie tried to warn me too…" _

She swallowed and moved backwards further, her head spinning.  
_Why wasn't he moving?_

"Wh-why? Why don't you ever move when I'm watching you?"  
Why wasn't he trying to stop her from getting away?  
Why did the mighty stone seraph never move when she was watching him?

Abigail Drake's words rang in his ears. _"He moves when you're not looking." _

A new thought dawned on Cassidy.  
What if the angel _couldn't_ move when she was watching?

Body near-numb with fear but her mind active and alert, she slowly backed away to the door frame. In the back of her mind, there was a voice screaming at her to run away. However, that voice was completely drowned by the call of curiosity. She sucked in a breath of air between her teeth and dared herself to test her theory.  
"R-right…"

Completely unaware of the danger she was in, Cassidy whipped her head around, looking away from the statue and looking back again.

"Ah-!"  
When her head turned back to the room, the statue was a mere breath away from her face. The statue's neck was craned, his stone, grey nose almost touching hers and his blank eyes still staring deeply into her eyes and one hand lifted, as if about to grab her.

"That's it th-then," Cassidy whispered. "Y-you can't move while I'm looking at you…" She swallowed, the stress of the situation suddenly making her want to cry. "You're not an ordinary statue…What the…what the Hell are you?"

Cassidy tried to back away once more but unable to prevent herself from blinking, allowed her eyelids to droop.

In that single blink, the angel statue was now right in front of her again but this time, he had _changed.  
_She wanted to scream, but all that she could manage was a sharp gasp with no breath in it.  
Her once-handsome angel's face had contorted to become that of a demon's.  
Deep furrows lined his glowering eyes, his gaping mouth- open in a silent roar- revealed jagged, sharp fangs and sharp claws now lined the fingers that were poised to grab her by the throat.

Immediately, Cassidy started to run.  
She forced her way through the massive double doors and swiftly turned to face the doorway once more, moving backwards.  
"I have to keep watching him," she murmured under her rattling breath. "Just like Grandmother's Footsteps."

She started to run backwards, her ankles wobbling violently in her high-heels. She could feel tears burning in the corners of her eyes.  
She tried screaming for help but with no working security cameras, she had no way of alerting the security guards or anyone else for that matter.

Despite her most intent efforts, fear and confusion set her head aching and with every reluctant blink, the monstrous looking statue moved closer to her- chasing her down the corridor.

Cassidy screamed once more, tears now streaming freely down her face.  
"What are you!? What do you want with me?!" she begged the angel to tell her. "Please! Leave me alone! What do you want?"

Moving backwards, she knew that she would soon reach the end of the corridor and would be trapped like a rat in a cage. She considered turning around to run but the angel was fast.  
Terrifyingly fast.  
In the single blink of an eye, he was only inches away from her each time.  
And yet, Cassidy had the dreadful feeling that he still wasn't moving at full-speed…like he was toying with her…

"What do you want from me?!" she asked again. "Can you even understand what I'm saying? _What do you want from me_?!"

At her next blink, she was shocked to see that the angel hadn't moved at all.  
Instead, he was standing completely still.  
Pointing at directly at her with a single clawed finger.  
Smirking.

Cassidy shook her head, her tears pouring faster. _"What? _I don't understand!"  
In another fearful blink, the angel had moved again- closer to her and a snarl now etched into his features.  
The pure, malicious rage in the eyes of the angel sent such a wave of fright through the young archaeologist that she immediately started to run backwards again, her body heaving with dry sobs.  
She tried screaming for help again but once again, her pleas fell on deaf ears and it wasn't long before she was backed against the glass of an exhibition case.  
The angel was now staring at her with the eyes of a predator.

"_He has me trapped," _Cassidy thought fearfully, her mind loose and splintered with sheer terror. _"He's going to hurt me. He's going to __**kill**__ me." _

Her fingers slid sideways, fumbling for the console beside the glass exhibition case. She tapped the security key into the console-pad, her fingers habitually falling upon the correct buttons and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes started to itch and prickle from her efforts not to blink but she refused to give in, feeling the glass of the case starting to rise up behind her.

"Come on, come on...fuck it…come on!"  
As soon as the glass was high enough, Cassidy hit the reverse button on the console and climbed into the display window.  
In the manner of a garage door, the bullet-proof glass pane started to come downwards, creating a barrier between her and the angel.

She didn't care if she was trapping herself in the case; the angel wouldn't be able to get at her from behind the glass.

With more frightened tears, her blinks became more rapid, clumps of black eyeliner hanging like smudging icicles from her eyelashes.  
The demonic, ferocious-looking stone angel started now looked positively furious.

With each blink, a loud, resounding thud echoed through the glass as the angel's fist pounded the unwelcome barrier. He continued to hammer the glass, even as Cassidy moved backwards, pressing her back against the stone wall at the far end of the case.  
Sickness and fear racked her body and she fell to her knees, crying and shutting her eyes completely.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

The angel kept striking the glass.  
Would it soon break? Cassidy wondered with panic.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

"Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone," she murmured, holding her head as she repeated her petrified mantra again and again. "Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone…"

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

Why was this happening? Her angel statue, her _Michael_, the work of art that was supposed to be the very first triumph in her career was in fact, not a statue at all.  
On top of all of her confusion, fear, grief for Louisa and humiliation following Leon's rejection, Cassidy felt consumed by betrayal.  
"Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone."

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

The angel- the predator himself- almost admired his little human female's endurance. It was almost a full five minutes before Cassidy Albright passed out completely.

* * *

Tap. Tap. Tap.

_Cassidy looked around the cave where she stood, trembling all over.  
It was dark but she knew that she was being watched. She could feel a thousand pairs of eyes watching her.  
She could feel __**his**__eyes all over her. _

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"_Michael…"  
The name that she had given to the statue ghosted on her lips.  
But he wasn't really a statue, was he?  
What was he? What did he want with her? _

Tap. Tap. Tap.

_She hadn't understood his pointing gesture.  
What had he meant? _

Tap. Tap. Tap. _  
_

_As she walked through the shadow-draped catacombs of the cave, her mind wandered back to the day that she had first found Michael…in particular to the fact that we has chained to the ground.  
Had someone else known that he wasn't really a statue? Is that why he had been chained there? _

Tap. Tap. Tap.

_What had she set free?_

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Cassidy Albright awoke, her head throbbing and her hair partially sticking to the encrusted, dry streams of eyeliner that now meandered down her cheeks.  
Still partially dreaming, she placed a hand on her aching neck and massaged it, wondering why her bed suddenly felt so hard and rigid.  
It only took her a few minutes for her terror from last night to come flooding back to her.  
She had locked herself in one of the large display cases to prevent the statue from getting to her.

Looking up with fear still bubbling like bile in her throat, Cassidy was expecting to see the angel statue still staring menacingly at her from behind the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

However, instead, the sight she was greeted with was that of a furious Curator Stanford, flanked by two rather confused looking security guards, one of whom was very gingerly tapping the glass.

Her voice still weak and slightly slurred from the tumultuous after-effects of the champagne from last night, she hoarsely called out the code that she had used to lock herself inside the exhibition case.  
The glass was raised and with trembling limbs, Cassidy climbed out of the exhibition case, managing to narrowly avoid knocking over a few plastic Neanderthal mannequins.  
Stanford was twitching with anger, the elderly man's usually pink round face, now tinted a sickening plum-purple.

"Sir, I-…"  
"My office, Miss Albright," Stanford managed to order her, not allowing her a single word in her own defence. "_Now." _

Seated before her employer, Cassidy's mouth was dry and her head was sore. If this had been any other day, in any other situation, she would have been quivering in fear at the sight of angry Stanford. However, after her living night terror the night before, Cassidy actually felt rather relaxed.  
Relieved, even.  
After all, she was still alive.

The angel still weighed heavily upon her mind.  
Where was it now? Was it back in the exhibition room? Was it watching her at that very moment?

"Never, in all my time working as the curator of this fine museum, have I _ever_ come across such a brazen display of carelessness from such a well-respected employee," Stanford informed her, angrily. "Miss Albright, this is outrageous- not to mention ridiculously unlike you. After your _own_ presentation ceremony, you become intoxicated and decide to climb into a display case, falling unconscious in a drunken stupor after ruining an extremely delicate Stone Age diorama…"

Cassidy shook her head, forcing herself to protest. She could feel tears of embarrassment pricking at the corners of her eyes. This was so utterly unfair.  
"Sir, I…I didn't just _decide_ to climb into the display case and I certainly d-didn't mean to knock the d-display about…I was…"

"Oh, it wasn't just drunken fun? Well, Miss Albright, would you care to explain what on earth you hoped to achieve with your actions?" He raised his eyebrows, the tiny white hairs standing vividly out against his ruddy, wrinkled forehead.

Cassidy shifted in her seat, opening her mouth and closing it again like a goldfish. She had no idea what to say; there was no way she could explain what had happened last night without sounding clinically insane.  
She wanted to warn him about the statue somehow but that seemed fairly impossible considering the fact that she herself wasn't sure what exactly she had experienced last night.

"I wasn't trying to…to engage in 'drunken fun', sir."  
"Miss Albright, I have staff members who witnessed you leaving the champagne reception merry as a lord. Mr Drake acknowledged that you seemed particularly inebriated when he bade you farewell."

Cassidy felt a sinking feeling in her chest with the knowledge that Leon had spoken to Stanford about her. "He rejects me and then rats me out in one night," she thought. "Wow, I sure know how to pick them."

"Sir," she insisted. "I may have been a little drunk, I'll admit…but there's something important…"

"Miss Albright, I cannot allow employees to behave in such a manner. This is extremely irresponsible of you. How do you think this reflects on the museum staff as a whole? Do you have any idea what would have happened if the security guards hadn't discovered you in the case before opening hours? Or if a member of the press had hung behind and seen you engaged in such tomfoolery?"

"I…I…look, my intentions weren't at all malicious…I didn't climb into the case for fun…I intended to reset the display when it was safe to climb out…when I passed out…" She swallowed. "When I passed out, it was from shock…not from drunkenness…"

"Shock? Why? Did you realise that you had become trapped?"  
"No, sir…I…I was being chased…"  
"Chased? _Chased? _Chased by whom, exactly?"  
"…I…I…I'm not sure…just some man…maybe one of the viewers from the party…he tried to attack me…so I ran and climbed into the case for protection…"  
Stanford looked concerned for a moment, folding his hands on the table. "Why did you not call for help?"  
"I did but the security guards didn't hear me. They were in the basement."  
"So why did you not run in the direction of the basement?"  
"Sir, with all due respect, I was frightened and…I had a lot to drink…"  
"Do you have any idea who your attacker might have been?"  
"No, sir. I didn't get a good look at his face…and last night is…blurry…"

Cassidy was silently amazed at her own ability to slowly rationalise her actions from the night before. In spite of her impromptu storytelling, Stanford still looked sceptical.

"Miss Albright…your story is extremely dubious."  
"I'm aware, sir."  
"Especially considering the fact that none of the security cameras are working as of late."  
"I know, sir."  
Stanford looked at her over the rim of his glasses, clasping his hands and sighing gravely. "Cassidy…this is _very_ unlike you. Do you have any idea what something like this could do to your career? To your chances at getting the position with Dr Rosenstock? The damage this incident could do to such a fledgling career is exponential…"

Cassidy hung her head, tears properly welling in her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks.  
She knew of the consequences of her actions but everything she had done, she had done to defend herself. How was she supposed to prove that to the curator? How could she explain what had happened last night to anyone?  
It was so ironic.  
The statue that had set her career in motion was about to end her career.

She found herself thinking about how her mother would react to the knowledge that her daughter had been found, passed out from drink inside a display case in the museum.  
It was only when Stanford handed her a tissue accompanied by an awkward cough that she realised that she was crying.

His voice softened. "Look, Cassidy. I know you mean well and this is the first blip on an otherwise completely clean record…but the museum does have procedures to do with incidents like these…"

The archaeologist nodded, dabbing at her eyes, knowing that if she spoke- her voice would dissolve into nothing but pathetic, quivering squawks.

Stanford went on. "Now, we can't contact your superior, Dr Hewitt, as of late. He appears to have left our grid and we suspect that he may have taken an early holiday leave ("Of course he has," Cassidy thought numbly. "Don't mention the fact that the police are investigating his disappearance"). So I'll be taking control of the situation until Dr Hewitt returns and the museum board are given the chance to review the situation. As such, Cassidy Albright, you'll be suspended without pay from work here at the museum, effective immediately."

His words hit her hard, like swift, sharp blows to the chest.

As she left Stanford's office, however, it wasn't her payroll that Cassidy suddenly became concerned about. It wasn't even her career or reputation. The suspension had been a shock to her system but truth be told, Cassidy had expected much worse.  
Anyway, she was more than happy to leave the museum for a while: she needed some time away from the angel. Even if some strange part of her was dying at the thought of being away from her angel again.

All she could think about the angel statue.  
About Michael.

Just thinking about the events of the night before sent tremors of terror through her.  
Shivering and unable to think straight, she couldn't even bring herself to go anywhere near the exhibition room- even to check that the angel was still there.

She was far too frightened to even consider that.  
Instead, she walked straight to the employee elevator, set to head straight to the preparation room.  
The room was empty and grateful for that, Cassidy seized her backpack from under the work bench.

"Oh God," she groaned, seeing her face in the small hand-mirror pulled hastily from the side-pocket. Not only was she tousle-haired and red-eyed but her make-up was now smudged in blotchy, encrusted patches all over her face. There were also two long, black, dried-in serpents streaking her cheeks, marking the places where her tears had once ran.

"Not only do I fucking feel like Death," she grunted, lifting a hand to nurse her throbbing temples as her free hand wiped her face clean. "I fucking look like Death too."  
Thankfully, her clothes from the day before were still intact and shelled of her high heel shoes and dress, Cassidy felt a lot more comfortable- if not a lot scruffier.

A hollow knock sounded at the door that made her jump, almost dropping her mirror. She turned to see Edmund Potter standing in the doorway.  
Cassidy felt her face heat up at the sight of Edmund's surverying, quizzical gaze.

"H-Hey…"  
Edmund gave a long exhale. "Hey Cass. I heard about the suspension…"  
"Look, Ed, if you're here to gloat," Cassidy said sharply, snatching up her backpack and shrugging it on to her arm. "I'm not in the mood."  
He held up both hands. "Hey, hey, hey. I'm not here to gloat at all." His forehead creased with genuine concern. "I'm…just worried about you, Cass. This is all so unlike you. I mean, Jake from security told me that you were drunk and disorderly or something…but you'd never do something like that." He smiled a little. "I mean, when we were at Hewitt's for Christmas, you were the one peeling _me_ off the walls after a few glasses of wine."

Cassidy couldn't help but laugh at the memory but the moment that she tried to speak rationally, her lips started to tremble. "Well…I wasn't as bad as they think I was…"  
Edmund frowned. "Then what's the real reason that you were in that case last night?"  
Her voice was starting to wobble dangerously. "Y-you wouldn't…b-believe me even…even if I t-t-told you…"  
"Try me."  
She opened her mouth but suddenly a myriad of terrifying images from the night before, flooded her mind. "I…I…" Without warning, Cassidy burst into uncontrollable tears. "Ed…I can't…I'm just so scared…I'm sorry…"  
Shock and relief coursed through her as she felt Edmund's arm wrap around her shoulders. "Shh…oi, no need for tears. Hey, relax. You're shaking like a leaf." He gave her a squeeze. "You know what might cheer you right up? Your angel exhibition is already really popular. Do you want to go in to check out your angel on display?"

"No! No!" Cassidy protested quickly, still crying as she pushed Edmund's arm away. She was thankful for his concern but at that very moment, she was too sick with fear to feel anything but suffocated. "No…please…I d-don't want to b-b-be anywhere n-near it…!"

"Ok, ok, ok," Edmund said quickly, stepping back and keeping his tone as gentle and diplomatic as possible. "…right, you don't have to go to the statue. What do you want to do? You need to seriously chill out, Cass."

She swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. "I d-don't care what w-w-we do as l-long as it's nowhere n-near the…the…"  
"I get off my shift at twelve," Edmund informed her softly. "If you're willing to wait here until then, we can go for coffee if you'd like."  
Cassidy nodded dumbly, hugging the backpack to her chest as if it were some kind of life-preserver. "I…I'd like that a lot." She managed a wavering smile. "Thank you, Edmund."

Cassidy hadn't expected to find comfort with anyone that day, least of all, Edmund Potter- the man she had always experienced nothing but rivalry with.  
But sympathy for her seemed to have blunted his usually razor sharp competitive edge and she was thankful for that. If anything, it only proved that what Louisa had said was right: when all came to all, Edmund was a nice guy.

* * *

He kept his word and at midday, the two archaeologists were sitting and chatting in a small café, half-damp from the light rain outside.  
Edmund thanked the waitress as she delivered his macchiato and placed a black coffee in front of Cassidy, before turning to his dishevelled companion.  
"So…you tried it on with Leon and he brushed you off?"  
She despised his terminology- he was making her affections sound cheap and tawdry- but spite of her mild irritation, Cassidy nodded glumly. "Yes. He made it very clear that any "vibes" I might have gotten from him were all in my head."  
Edmund shrugged. "Leon's a proper prat anyway. I wouldn't feel like I missed out on much, if I were you, to be honest." He raised his eyebrows. "So you got hammered after that. Then what happened?"  
Cassidy bit her lip, her hands clasped on either side of the cup and her eyes staring down into the rippling black liquid. "…I went to see the statue."  
"And?" Edmund took a sip of his own drink. "Then what happened?"  
"…I can't say…I can't…" She winced, shaking her head violently. "No…I can't tell you…"  
"Christ, Cass," he groaned. "I'm not trying to interrogate you or anything but if you've got a genuine reason for acting the way you did, you can make a stronger case to Stanford to get your job back…"

"I don't care about the job!" she suddenly exclaimed, loudly enough to startle a passing waitress. "I don't care about that! If anything, I just need to fucking stay away from the museum right now…"  
"Cass…what happened? You weren't…attacked were you?"  
"Y-ye-…no…"  
Edmund took a deep breath before leaning close to Cassidy, his eyes full of tentative concern. "Was it one of the security guards?"

"N-no!"  
"Well, then who was it, Cassidy? It's obvious that something happened to you last night and if you don't name whoever was involved, you'll nev-…"  
"It's the statue."

Edmund blinked. "Come again?"  
"It's the statue," Cassidy repeated, looking up at him. "The angel. Michael. He moved."  
"It…moved?"  
"Yes," she insisted, starting to tremble again at the memory of those cold, grey eyes staring at her. "He can move. Ed…I don't think he's even a real statue. There's something seriously wrong with it…"  
"Do you hear yourself right now?"  
"Look, I know this sounds crazy but that statue came to life somehow and chased me. It was…it was g-going to _kill_ me, Ed."  
"Awwh, Jesus, Cass," Edmund groaned, rolling his eyes as his concern melted into cynicism. "Are you serious? I knew you were _obsessed_ with that statue but I never thought you'd actually buy so far into all of these stupid rumours."  
"I'm not "buying into" any rumours!" Cassidy almost shouted, now shaking so much that her teeth were clinking against the china of her cup. "I saw it for m-myself. The st-statue moved! He can m-move when you're not looking at him."  
Edmund knitted his brows. "Cass, just stop, alright? Stop calling the statue a "he", stop talking about it as if it's alive and stop freaking out. You're just making yourself upset."

"Y-you don't understand! You didn't see it for y-yourself…"  
Cassidy wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, her gaze briefly flicking to outside the window…

…and her heart just about stopped.  
There was a church across the street and standing atop one of the massive stone pillars of the church's iron-railing walls was an angel statue.  
But not just any angel statue. This seraph was tall, muscular and with the exact neatly draped Greek toga, stone feathered wings, long hair and ominous gaze that Cassidy knew only too well.  
It was Michael.  
And he was looking straight at her.

"_The angel! It followed me!" _she shrieked. _"It followed me. It followed me!"  
_There weren't many people in the café but most of the patrons had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at Cassidy with confusion and concern.  
Awkwardly, Edmund stood up and walked over to stoop beside Cassidy's seat.

"Shh," he whispered, giving her a hug, before following her gaze out the rain-streaked window. "Cassidy, listen to me. That's not the angel from the museum. Come on now, you know this better than anyone. The angel in the museum has his arm covering his eyes and that one has both arms stretched out. They can't be the same angel…no one can manipulate metamorphic rock like that…"

Edmund just didn't know.

His words gave her little comfort but Cassidy forced herself to nod, pretending that he was soothing her.  
She knew that the angel outside, watching her every move was Michael. But there was no point in trying to convince Edmund Potter any further.  
He truly just believed that she was having some kind of bizarre nervous breakdown. She avoided looking out of the window again

He held her for the next few seconds, finally parting to check his phone as it vibrated.  
He sighed and stood up. "I have to head back to the museum now."  
Cassidy's eyes widened of their own accord and she suddenly sat bolt upright. The idea of being left alone with the angel watching her, made her rigid with terror.

"Y-You can't…please, Edmund…d-don't go…"  
"I'm sorry. I really have to." He frowned, looking genuinely apologetic and still extremely concerned. "I'll text you later to see how you're doing and call me if you need to talk some more later."  
He gave her shoulder one last squeeze. "Go home and relax, Cassidy. You need it."

She watched him swallow back the rest of his coffee and leave, heading down the street outside and disappearing around the corner.  
She clasped her hands in her lap, shaking violently and her teeth almost chattering.

After a few seconds of staring at the lukewarm coffee in front of her, Cassidy dared herself to look out the window.  
To see if Michael was still watching her.

But when Cassidy finally looked up and out the window, the angel was gone.  
_  
_She clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming in public again and kept her eyes on the coffee cup in front of her.

_He's following me. He's definitely following me. He's definitely following me because he wants to kill me. _

A thousand threads of thought rushed through Cassidy's mind.

What was she supposed to do?  
She automatically fumbled for her phone despite not knowing whom she planned on calling yet.  
The police would more than likely think she was insane.  
Stanford would probably think she was playing some kind of prank in retaliation for her suspension.  
Most of her friends would think she was having a laugh with them too.  
Edmund had said to give him a call, but Cassidy highly doubted that he'd be willing to drop everything and come running back to the café just because she asked him to.  
He had also made it very clear that he didn't exactly believe her story either.

She swallowed, deciding that her best option was to return home as quickly as possible.  
Her own house seemed like a good place to hide out while she figured out what to do.  
"If he wants to follow me there," Cassidy told herself, trying to coax her heartbeat to slow down. "He'll have to follow me through London…and if he truly can't move if someone's watching him...then I'll have the advantage because the city'll be packed with people by one o clock." She relaxed a little with this knowledge. "Someone is bound to see him and while he's still frozen, I can get ahead of him and he won't know where I've gone…"  
Her plan had a million flaws but Cassidy could truly care less.

Not giving herself a chance to overthink it, she quickly called for a taxi; she was _not_ prepared to take the risk involved in walking.  
Willing her legs to start moving, Cassidy rose and moved to a seat that was further away from the window. Taking a stolen glance, she couldn't see the angel outside anymore.  
"But that doesn't mean that he isn't there," Cassidy thought, sitting at her new table. "If he can't see me…maybe there's a better chance that he'll get bored and leave me alone…"

Her insides squirmed a little.  
She felt as though she was fourteen years old again and being bullied by the tougher, prettier girls in her class at school. She remembered hiding in the bathrooms and waiting until they got bored and stopped looking for her.  
Cassidy took a long, deep breath. Those days hadn't lasted very long, thankfully; her mother had gone straight to the school and sorted everything out for her.

"_Mum."  
_Cassidy's eyes widened. What if the angel followed her home? What if it went after her mother?  
She didn't care so much if it tried to go after her: she could take care of herself without much hassle.  
Maria Albright, on the other hand, was infirm and weak. There was no way she could outrun something like that and trying to get her up the stairs to the attic or down into the cellar would take far too long to guarantee either of their safeties.  
"Besides," thought Cassidy frantically. "Mum's too rational to believe anything like this could even be true. Even if she did see him move, it would give her a heart attack anyway."

Swallowing, she fumbled with her phone again, trying to calm herself down.  
It was a Tuesday.  
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, her mother was always taken to the hospital by her care nurse for a mandatory check-up. Usually, this involved her mother staying overnight in her private ward so that the doctors could monitor her breathing as she slept.  
Cassidy chewed on the inside of her mouth, her heart dropping like a stone when she was reminded of how much worse her mother's health was getting by the day.

"No. Calm down," she told herself. "Relax. Alright, Mum might be in the hospital tonight. That means she won't be anywhere near that thing and that's the best possible scenario that I can imagine."  
Taking another moment to still her breathing, Cassidy dialled her mother's number into her phone.

"Hello?"  
Her mother's voice sounded as weak and withered as always but it warmed Cassidy to her very core.  
"Hello, Mum."  
"Cassidy? Cassy, love, where have you been? I thought that I might have missed you coming home last night and but I was up at six this morning and you weren't there."  
"I know, Mum. I kn-…"  
"I was worried about you!"  
"I know, Mum. I'm so sorry. I just…" She paused for a moment, biting her lip before continuing. "The party went on until two, maybe three in the morning. I was about to head home but Petra lives near the museum and she offered me to stay in hers. So…I headed over there for the night…"  
Cassidy just couldn't bring herself to tell her mother about the suspension. Not then and there. She couldn't bear to hear her mother, disappointed in her.  
At that moment in time, her mother sounded rather annoyed at her.  
"But why didn't you _call_, Cassy?"  
"I…well, I hadn't talked to Petra since before Louisa died and…well, she was really upset too…I guess I just lost track of things…"  
"Ah…I see, love. I see."  
Cassidy felt unspeakably low for using her own friend's death to gain her mother's sympathy, but the truth, at that point in time, had to be protected.

"Yeah, so anyway, today I'm working some kind of strange shifts at the museum."  
"Strange?"  
"Yes, I'll be working tonight but I'm off right now." Taking another pause to collect her thoughts, Cassidy went on. "So I'm going to visit you in the hospital now, rather than tonight. Is that ok?"  
Her mother coughed, causing her to wince at the sound of the woman struggling to breathe. "Yes, that should be fine, love. I'm not in with Dr Martin until two."  
"Alright, Mum, I'll see you then."  
"Bye bye, Cassy. I love you."  
"Love you too."

The taxi pulled up in front of the café only minutes later.  
Cassidy almost knocked over a waitress with a tray of cappuccinos, rushing out the door and straight into the back-seat of the cab.  
The driver looked over his shoulder, grinning widely at her.

"Now then, ma'am. Where are we 'eaded on this fine day?"  
"The Regional Hospital, please."  
The man let out a low whistle. "Town's gonna be choc-a-block, ma'am. I 'ope you're not 'eaded there in a 'urry. P'raps you're better off calling an ambulance, if that's the case."  
She shook her head. "I'm in no hurry. I'm just visiting."

Satisfied with this, the driver turned back around and pulled off.  
Cassidy took out her phone a final time and dialled the number she had for Nancy. Her first-cousin and her mother's care-nurse.

"Hello, Nancy?"  
"Hey there, Cass. How are you?"  
"Fine, fine. You brought Mum to the hospital this morning, yeah?"  
"As always."  
"And you're taking her home tonight?"  
"If the doctors don't keep her overnight…"  
"Nan, I need a favour."  
"Go ahead, Cass. What can I help you with?"  
"…I know this is weird, but I really need you to make sure that Mum stays over in the hospital tonight…could you convince the doctors to run an extra scan or something?"  
"…I could but why? Don't you want your mother to come home as early as possible?"  
Cassidy shook her head, realising that lying was so much easier when (a) for the cause of protecting one's loved-ones and (b) when done repeatedly.  
"I'm just worried. Mum's breathing has gotten really bad as of late. She says she's fine…but you know yourself, Nan. She _always_ says she's fine."  
"I don't know, Cass…"  
"Please. You'd be giving me such peace of mind. I just want to know that there's definitely no problems there."  
"…fine, fine. I'll ask Dr Martin to keep her in tonight."  
Relief washed over Cassidy in a warm, welcome tide. "Thanks a million, Nancy."

She hung up, taking deep breaths again.  
Cassidy didn't want to be so dishonest with those she cared about but she didn't have a choice.  
Looking out at the grid-locked, rush-hour traffic, she found her mind wandering back to the angel. It almost rotted her insides to think that it was her who had brought it to the museum.  
Should she have warned someone other than Edmund about it?  
Someone who would have believed her?

They reached the hospital at one.  
Cassidy seized a wad of paper notes from her purse and pushed them into the hand of the taxi driver.  
"I won't be here long. Could you wait here for me? I'll pay you the mileage rate by the minute."  
The promise of more money just about quelled any complaints or confusion that the driver had. "Not a bother, ma'am."

Not waiting for any further niceties, Cassidy flung the taxi door open and bolted into the hospital.  
She would be safe here, wouldn't she?  
Her Mum would be safe here too, wouldn't she?  
Hospitals were big, public places.  
With lots of people and security cameras.  
Someone would be bound to notice a huge, stone angel moving around.  
Wouldn't they?

* * *

"Caaaaassiiiiiddddyyyy…Albright," the doctor muttered, letting the familiar name roll off of his tongue as he pored over one of his own handwritten logs. "Hmmm…"

Clara yawned, walking from her room in the TARDIS, back down to the main floor.  
"I don't care how often I do this," she murmured to herself, running a hand back through her hair. "Fighting aliens is still going to get the better of me, every time I do it. It's unbelievably tiring…don't know how you do it." She directed her last comment at the studious doctor, frowning. "And I don't care how _peaceful_ you insist that those Adipose people are…when you've got five or six giant mounds of fat with eyes rubbing up against your best coat, it's hard to think of them as being peacef-…" She raised her eyebrows at the doctor's posture and choice of reading material before smirking with amusement.  
"Are you _still_ trying to figure out who that Cassidy Albright girl is?"

The doctor pouted, straightening up and shrugging. "It's just _really_ bothering me. For something like this, you'd think I would have written myself a memoir or a note somewhere but nope. Nothing! Zilch! Nada! Maybe I should just give up…"  
The doctor's pout deepened into a frown. "I don't like giving up."

Clara lifted a hand to place on his shoulder, squeezing it a little before pulling him into a half-hug. "Hey, no one's forcing you to give up. Maybe you should get some rest though. Take a break."  
The doctor blushed a little at the unexpected contact but immediately and gratefully turned the half-hug into a full-embrace. "Maybe."  
His companion chuckled, sighing. "With the kind of obsession you've been taking to Cassidy Albright, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were married to her."

The doctor froze, his entire body going rigid as he stepped back from Clara, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes were wide and staring, his jaw slightly slackened.  
"Married…_married_…that's it!"  
He immediately turned to the TARDIS console and started fiercely typing in a new string of search words.

Clara's own eyes widened and she spluttered out: "Y-You weren't a-actually married to her…were you?"  
The doctor lifted his head. "Oh Heavens, no, no, no …BUT when I first met her, _she_ was married."  
"…Forgive me if I don't quite see how this helps your situation. Did you know her husband?"  
"Cassidy Albright changed her name after she got married. That's why I don't have any information on someone named Cassidy Albright…when I met her, that wasn't what she was going by," the doctor informed the young woman at his side, standing back and watching as the main screen came to life- a new image flashing upon it. His tone became solemn and grave. "I think I've just remembered what I had to tell her."

Clara peered at the new images on the screen, her brow furrowing.  
"_What_ is _that_?"

The doctor took a deep breath, seriousness slowly draping across his features.  
"_That_ is why it is very important that we find the girl fleetingly known as Cassidy Albright, as soon as possible."

* * *

It was five o'clock when Cassidy finally got home and sunlight was already fading from the sky. The house itself was an old Victorian place, surrounded by briars and brambles left to her mother in a will.  
Though some of her school-friends had been reluctant to stay overnight there, saying that the house was "spooky" and "probably haunted", Cassidy had never seen her home as anything but a sanctuary.  
This was the very first time that she had ever felt frightened, walking up the cobbled front path and inserting her key into the old, brass lock.

For the first time in her life, Cassidy turned on every light in the entire house and spent the first hour home, just sitting next to the phone in her bedroom, hugging her knees.  
She tried to distract herself with novels, manga, the internet, video-games, television…but her mind kept wandering back to Michael.

Could she even call him Michael anymore?  
In her own mind, "Michael" had been the beautiful statue of a handsome, weeping seraph whom she had spent all of her time working on and in return, he listened to all of her problems.  
The monster who had chased her the night before was definitely _not_ that same angel.

Her own body surprised her.  
It seemed to have betrayed her.  
The thought of the angel brought tremors to her lips, limbs and torso and left fear festering in her stomach. Yet, at the same time, thinking about her Michael brought tears to her eyes and ignited something hot and longing in her chest.  
What was wrong with her? What had he _done _to her?

At exactly six fourteen, Cassidy emerged from her bedroom, changed into a pair of loose shorts and a faded blue tank top.  
A cup of tea, some pancakes and a recorded episode of "Only Fools and Horses" helped her to relax back to normality.  
Comforting thoughts began to find their way back into her mind at last. After all, after the incident in the café, she hadn't seen the angel again. She didn't see him anywhere near the hospital or in it and she hadn't seen him anywhere around the house.  
Maybe he had headed back to the museum, fearing that he would be missed?

"Eventually someone else will notice something weird about the statue," she thought to herself. "Someone will see him move. Someone will finally believe me. Someone will call the police and they can lock it up…"

The relieving, comforting thoughts continued until Cassidy eventually fell asleep on her living room sofa, watching television.  
Her dream was vivid and strange, even in comparison her usual night-time reveries.

She dreamt about the man from the old police box, that day in the graveyard.  
The "doctor" as he had introduced himself.  
He was standing in front of her, pleading with her to come with him- into the big, blue police box.  
She tried to follow him but she realised that there was an iron manacle around her wrist, keeping her chained to something.

Cassidy turned around, only to see Michael behind her, grinning darkly and holding the end of the chain in his clawed hands. Frightened, she tried to pull away from him but the more she tried to follow the doctor, the closer to the stone angel she was dragged.  
"_It's no use_," she called out to the doctor. "_I can't leave him…I can't leave…He won't let me go…" _

She suddenly woke with a start, taking a groggy few moments to take stock of her surroundings.  
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and yawning.  
The first thing that struck her was the fact that it was now dark outside. Checking her phone, she blinked realising that it was now just past ten o'clock. She'd been asleep for almost three hours.  
The second thing to strike her was just how quiet it was.  
Cassidy furrowed her brow, realising that the television was no longer on. She stared at the blank screen, trying to remember if she had turned it off before she fell asleep.  
She couldn't remember falling asleep and therefore she could only assume that she had fallen asleep during the programme…and the television didn't have an automatic turn-off option…

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Cassidy jumped, letting out a cry of shock as her phone suddenly sprang to life, starting to vibrate. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down again as she answered the call.  
"H-Hello?"  
"Cass, it's Edmund."  
"Oh…hey…h-how-?"  
"Cass, listen! Listen! The angel statue is missing from the museum!"  
"What? _What?!"  
_"The angel went missing from the museum just an hour ago. I have no idea how it got out of the exhibition hall but-…"  
Cassidy hung up, dropping the phone.  
Her eyes were wide and her whole body was shaking.  
"_Calm down,"_ a soft, motherly voice said inside her head. _"Calm down. Just because he's not there doesn't mean that he's he-…"  
_That was when she heard it.  
The unmistakable sound of a flower-pot being shattered outside.

"N-No…"  
For a split second, a thousand different thoughts darted through Cassidy's mind.  
Only one of those garbled, frightened messages seemed to come through clearly.  
_Run.  
Doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter why. Just run. _

She sprang to her feet, pulling the converse runners at the side of the sofa on and immediately made a bolt for the hallway. She contemplated pulling over the curtains but then decided against it.  
There was no doubt in her mind that the angel was right outside, hunting her and if it couldn't move when someone was watching him- her best bet at that very moment was to make sure that she could see him coming.

That said, she didn't want him to know exactly where she was.

Quivering, crying and breathing heavily, Cassidy slowly pressed her back to the wall of the hallway corridor and slid down the wall until she was crouched on the polished wooden floor.  
Through a gap in the door of the sitting room, she could see out of the window. It was too dark to see much further than the lawn, but from what she could make out, it was empty.

Then the pounding started.

The front door suddenly rattled in its hinges, causing her to scream.  
Someone was pounding against it, beating it with a fist. At first she was ready to delude herself that it could just be a very eager delivery man or a concerned neighbour but as the pounding increased in volume and force- she knew that that was no human on her porch.

She covered her ears, too afraid to move.  
"Leave me alone!" she shrieked. "Just leave me alone! Leave me alone!"

After a few minutes, there was a still, empty, eerie silence.  
The pounding had stopped.  
Shakily, Cassidy removed her hands from her ears and wiped her eyes.  
Had he given up?

A jolt shot like an electric shock through her body when she heard what sounded like scratching against wood, coming from outside the front door.  
He was scratching around the porch. He was trying to find a way inside.

She swallowed back against a dry throat, her palms suddenly becoming sweaty and her head becoming terribly warm.  
_What if he discovered the back door? _

Survival instincts taking over, Cassidy crawled to the kitchen on her hands and knees. She carefully made her way over to the back-door, staggered to her feet and with a trembling hand, turned the key left in the lock.  
She wasn't sure if it would keep him out but it made her feel slightly safer.

Turning around sharply, her eyes automatically locking on the windows- watching for the angel.  
_Where the Hell was he now?_

Her eyes searched the kitchen counter-tops, looking for some kind of weapon.  
Anything she could use to defend herself.  
_Anything. _

Then she saw it.  
On the kitchen table, lay a perfect wild red rose.

Her body went completely numb for a few moments and before she consciously knew it, she was walking over to the table. Slowly, she picked up the rose, examining it with a pounding heart.  
"H-How…?"

The rose was identical to the other two that someone had left for her.  
But that someone hadn't been Louisa or Leon.  
It couldn't have been her mother either.

All of a sudden, Cassidy felt as though she had been engulfed in ice- her body suddenly seizing as she realised with horror…

…there was only one other person in the museum who could have possibly known…or who could have possibly overheard…what her favourite flower was.

Dropping the rose, she turned around, only to see Michael.  
Towering over her.  
Head craned down to look at her.  
Eyes glowering.  
Hands adorned by claws and reaching out for her throat.

Mouth open in a silent roar- displaying his jagged, knife-like teeth.

Cassidy stood beneath him, shaking, defenceless and terrified- her eyes wide open.  
She was too frightened to scream this time.  
He had her trapped. There was no way she could have run. There was no way for her to fight back.

So Cassidy did the only thing that it was possible for her to do.

She closed her eyes and started to pray.

"_Angel sent by God to guide me, be my light and walk beside me…" _

To her surprise, instead of flesh-tearing claws, she felt a cool-skinned palm touch her bare collar-bone.  
There was a sudden rush of warm air that seemed to consume her body completely.

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was that it was raining.


	7. VII

**Thanks a million again for the reviews, follows and favourites! It's nice to know that people are reading and enjoying this!**

* * *

The first drops of rain were warm as they grazed her cheeks, forehead and thighs. A single drop trailed down her cheek, splashed against her collar bone and slowly trickled down between her breasts.  
Her first, confused thought was to question how exactly it was possible for it to be raining indoors.

Cassidy's eyes snapped open as a cold wind suddenly drew across her body, causing her to shudder.  
Her surroundings sent a tremor of shock through her, binding her to the spot.  
She was no longer standing on the tiles of her kitchen floor, inside the house that she shared with her mother. She was standing on the pavement of a footpath, outside, facing a huge, towering, red-brick building.

The building seemed to stretch upward endlessly, grazing the rust-coloured sky above and a rusted wrought iron sign with peeling paint just above the huge double-doors proclaimed: **"The Summer Bank Hotel."  
**On either side of the sign, a granite gargoyle crouched, their sightless grey eyes staring out on to the street ahead.  
Shivering violently, she turned around, looking around herself.  
_"How did I get here?" _her thoughts numbly echoed.  
Only half-consciously, she brought her fingers to her forearm and gave herself a hard pinch. She winced, having silently asked a stupid question that Pain had answered; no, she was definitely not dreaming.

She turned around slowly, on the spot, slowly taking in her surroundings.  
Mere seconds ago, had she not been standing in her kitchen? Cornered by a stone angel?  
Had he somehow taken her here? Had she been unconscious?  
She could vaguely remember him touching her…and with an unwelcome heat growing in her chest, she could remember that his touch had felt like flesh rather than stone.  
The very thought of her once-dear Michael was enough to set Cassidy's teeth chattering but as she looked around herself, she could see no sign of him anywhere.  
In fact, aside from the hotel and a few other dilapidated buildings, the street on which she stood was rather barren. Not a single car drove down the road and not a soul walked on the footpath.  
The Summer Bank faced out on to a wide, railed-off river, its choppy waters half-glazed in the amber glow of sundown.

Cassidy did not recognise the area as anywhere that she had ever been before.

She shivered again.  
The wind was starting to get cooler and the rain was starting to get colder, slowly soaking into the fabric of her tank top and the canvas of her converse.  
Deciding that standing around in this weather, regardless of her apparent whereabouts. It was only when she had jogged up the steps of The Summer Bank that she realised the two huge double doors of the hotel were open.  
"It looks abandoned," she thought. "Still, standing with a grimy roof over my head in a rain shower is better than standing with no roof over my head in a rain shower."

Cassidy looked up at some of the grotty windows above her as she reached for the handle. It surprised her to see an old man standing at one of the windows.  
"I was wrong," she mentally noted, with raised eyebrows. "The hotel may look a little rough around the edges but it's definitely still in operation."  
The old man was now pressing a hand to the window and mouthing something at her.  
But with the glass, Cassidy had no idea what he was trying to say.

A rumble of thunder in the distance instantly diverted her attention and she ran straight into the lobby.  
The doors slammed shut behind her and she jumped, almost slipping on the tiles beneath her feet. Her eyebrows knitted with confusion as she slowly looked around what she thought would be a working hotel lobby.

Each of her steps echoed ominously as she walked inside- her footsteps being the only thing to break the thin, eerie silence.  
The place was as deserted as the street had been outside and there was only one source of light in the whole space: a single glass lamp on the unattended reception desk.  
Cassidy noticed that the place was very well decorated; as an archaeologist and general history enthusiast, she could appreciate the very vintage, old-fashioned décor. There was even an old 1920s typewriter on the desk before her, the elevator had an similarly out-dated fold-away door and the black and white framed photographs on the walls made her feel as if she was standing on the set of a Hollywood gangster film.  
That said, even the glamorous comforters and lavish drapes were coated in dust, the plants on either side of the main doors were brown, dead and withered in their pots and only indication that anyone had ever set foot in the room at all was the sheer quantity of scattered luggage bags left randomly strewn about around the waiting area.

"Strange," whispered Cassidy, half-considering whether or not she should walk up to the desk and actually just ring the service bell.  
Suddenly the lamp on the desk flickered, the shadows around her, stretching and writhing. She froze, feeling a cold draft draw across her again, her heart-rate quickening rapidly.  
Someone or something had definitely moved behind her and for the first time, she realised how creepy the room she was standing in truly was.

_Unseen to her, a pair of eyes were watching her from the darkness.  
Then another pair joined that pair of eyes.  
Then another.  
And another _

_Watching her.  
Perfectly quiet. Perfectly still.  
Just watching her. _

_Awaiting their orders to move. _

Paranoia gnawed at the corners of Cassidy's mind, fuelled by the fear that was simmering inside of her.  
Forcing herself to be brave, she turned around slowly- to see if someone had followed her into the hotel.

The sight that Cassidy saw her behind her was enough to draw a scream of pure terror from the young woman. This scream was so high-pitched, thin and reedy with fear that it echoed around the lobby, rebounding against the tiles and causing the glass chandelier above her head to shake.

She was no longer alone in the lobby.  
Instead, standing behind her were five angel statues.

Her scream spent, Cassidy's jaw was still slack and her eyes were wide.  
Each of the angel statues was only a little shorter than Michael but still just as intimidating. In a stark contrast to her own stone seraph's huge, hulking, masculine body- the five angels who stood before her were all slender, effeminate with vaguely beautiful faces. All of them wore the same kind of Greek chiton that her Michael wore, their wings raised and their arms resting gracefully at their sides.  
However, their blank-eyed stares were focused firmly on Cassidy.  
They had surrounded her in a neat semi-circle, completely blocking the front door and her only chance of an escape.

"A-Alright," Cassidy murmured softly to herself, remembering that screaming and crying at Michael had done nothing to sway him. Clearly, these statues were also of Michael's kind, pleading with them would be futile. "And I can't run either. If I look away, they can m-move…"  
Shakily and gradually, she started to walk backwards.  
Unlike at the museum, she had no idea what she was planning to do or where she was walking to. All she knew was that she needed to get to an exit of some kind as soon as possible.  
Her eyes stung and watered but she was determined not to blink.

"Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink," she whispered to herself in a motivational mantra. "Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink, don't bl-…"  
She had bumped into something.  
Something large. Something sturdy.  
Something with firm, unmarred skin that was freezing cold.

Before she could even draw a frightened breath, Cassidy turned around sharply and even before she turned, Cassidy knew exactly who was standing behind her.

There was Michael.  
Glaring down at her with an expression that was more terrifying than the monstrous show of teeth and claws that he had confronted her with earlier.  
Like the female angels, his face was completely neutral, expressionless and almost serene. Despite that, his wide, staring eyes radiated nothing but glacial cruelty and his gently parted lips seemed to be just barely suppressing a sneer.

Unable to breathe, Cassidy leapt backwards, starting to move away from him as quickly as she could. Her breath jerked back into her throat with a frightened gasp when she noticed that the angels behind her had moved. They were now reaching for her, their fingers curled to grasp her thin limbs.  
She watched the six of them intently, walking backwards.  
Her mouth had gone dry and her body seemed to only barely capable of moving yet her mind was racing.

She tried her best not to blink but after just a few moments, the brimming tears in her lower lids became too much for her eyes to bear.  
She was forced to blink and in that fraction of a second, the angels had her surrounded. Michael was now in the centre, with the five others flanking him.  
While their faces still bore no emotion, his grey-stone lips- the ones that she had previously kissed- were now curled into a smirk.

"He _is_ just toying with me," Cassidy thought, finding herself backed against the door of the elevator. "They're all toying with me. They're all faster than this...so why haven't they touched me yet?"

Her body jerked with shock when the elevator behind her let out a ringing sound and the metal grate slowly opened.  
The elevator compartment that she hadn't called waited for her patiently. It was a little too much of a coincidence for her not to suspect foul play but too frightened to suffer another mental tryst and unwilling to risk pushing her way through the living statues who surrounded her, Cassidy slowly backed into the elevator.

It was only when she was inside of the velvet compartment that she realised just how old-fashioned the elevator was. There were was no proper button panel- just a lever for indicating which floor one wished to travel to.  
Cassidy did not even have to touch this lever for the moment that she was standing in the centre of the compartment, the door closed and the elevator shot upward.

Her heart started to beat in uneven, rhythmless tremors as the doors opened on to a long corridor, lit only by two flickering lights on the ceiling. On either side of the hall-way, polished maple doors lined the walls- presumably the hotel rooms.

Fearing that she had no better alternative, Cassidy started to walk out of the elevator, her damp converse squeaking with each step on the red carpet. She noticed that rather than having number plates on the doors, the doors had name plates instead.

"_T. Robinson…M. Austin…L. Hlukaku…B. O'Leary…D. Befort…"  
_

Before she could even consider this fact to be strange or unsettling, her attention was pulled by the angel standing at the top of the corridor and she froze.  
The stone angel stood at the wall at the end of the hallway, its hands over its eyes as if crying in anguish.  
"The same way Michael was when I found him," she thought, looking around for some means of escape. But the angel didn't appear to be moving even when she looked away; could it even see her?  
Cassidy noticed that a single door ahead of her was ajar, pale light spilling out across darkened floor and splitting the shadows where they lay.

She immediately rushed to it, seeking shelter within but the moment she lay her hand upon the gold handle, her entire body seized where she stood.  
The name-plate on the door read _"C. Albright." _

There was no doubt.  
The room was intended for her.

Cassidy's shock had very little time to settle for a split second later, the door right next to hers burst open and a man stumbled out.  
He was young, ashen-faced and his tousled, black hair was slicked to his forehead with the gleaming salt of sweat. He wore a loose white shirt, khaki dress trousers and a set of red suspenders, slung over his shoulders.

"I'll fucking die! You all hear me, you stone bastards!? I would damn well die rather than stay a part of your fucking feeding grounds here!" he screamed with a heavy Brooklyn accent, his face slowly turning puce. "You won't take another year from me, you fucking agents of Hell! You can all-…all…!"

The man froze at the sight of Cassidy as she froze at the sight of him.  
His mouth fell slack for a moment before he suddenly fell to his knees, coughing and hacking violently. His chest heaved sporadically and he clutched at his throat, clawing at the protruded jugular vein, his eyes wide and staring.  
"W-Watch…it…" he managed to choke out, pointing.

Cassidy followed his gaze and noticed that the angel at the end of the corridor had moved and was now standing only a foot away from the two of them, its eyes locked on the young man and its long, slender arms at its sides.  
"D-Don't…" he spluttered, wheezing heavily as he moved closer to the floor, staring at Cassidy. "D-D-Don't…"

She hesitated for a moment, noticing that the angels from downstairs were now in the corridor too.  
Michael was in their midst, towering above the smaller females and watching Cassidy with the same intent stare. One of his long, muscular arms was outstretched, seemingly reaching out towards her.

Cassidy wanted to keep looking at all of them but at the same time, there was obviously something seriously wrong with the man, now hunched over on the ground at her feet and choking for air.

The angels made no movement to stop her and taking this as her only chance, Cassidy dropped to her knees beside the man, placing her hand on his back.  
"Are you alright?" she asked. "Could you try to sit up for me?"  
The man shook his head, his movements become progressively jerkier but much weaker. His lips had soon turned blue and his eyelids started to droop.

Cassidy's eyes widened.  
She didn't need to ask what was wrong with the man.  
He was having an asthma attack: the exact kinds that her mother used to have in the earlier stages of her illness.

"No…no…"  
It wasn't just the traumatic memories of watching her mother suffocate that flooded her mind but also the fact that this man was possibly the only other human being in this building, that spurred her actions.  
There was no way that she was going to let him die.

She guided his limp form to lie upon the floor, as she had practiced so many times before with her mother. After lifting his throat to open his airway, Cassidy pinched the man's nose and started breathing into his mouth. His pulse revealed that his heart-rate was only slightly improving and Cassidy immediately started pressing on his chest, weighting his sternum to coax his heart into pumping faster.  
"Come on…come on…"  
The man's eyes suddenly widened and he sucked in a deep breath, his body spasming as he coughed. Relief surged through Cassidy as air surged through the man's lungs once more but when he finally came to, it wasn't gratitude that poured from his lips.

"W-Why? Y-Y-You…? W-why did you damn well do that, woman? Why would you fucking do that?"  
She reeled back in shock but had no time to ponder his callous response to her charitable act.

The lights above their heads flickered and in those brief seconds of darkness, Cassidy and the man were hauled to their feet. Both grabbed by two of the angels.  
Cassidy winced, letting out a cry at the feeling of the angels' cold, stone skin pressed against hers. It was much rougher and coarser than Michael's and it grazed her bare flesh.

The lights continued flickering and for each second that Cassidy could not see the angels, she found herself being shoved into the open door that had been labelled with her name.  
"What are they doing to us?!" she shouted at the asthmatic man. "What are they doing?! Why are they doing this?!"  
But the man simply hung his head, refusing to answer and giving up on struggling with the angels' hold.

Cassidy looked to Michael.  
"Why are _you_ doing this?"  
The menacing stone angel was now standing right next to her. His glare suggested that she had done something terribly wrong but he was smirking eerily.  
She had no idea if he could speak or not but at that point in time, she did not need him to say a word- she knew exactly what he was wanted to say.

"_I have you exactly where I want you." _

The lights in the hallway suddenly died, plunging them all into complete darkness and Cassidy was roughly thrown into the room intended for her.  
The door was slammed shut after her.

Sprawling on the carpet, her shoulders, backside and elbows burning and throbbing from the impact, Cassidy slowly pulled herself to her feet.  
The room was dark but thankfully the room had a single window and some strangled, weak light from the twilight sky illuminated the corner of a wall and the blurry outline of an old standing lamp.  
After a few seconds of fumbling, she managed to turn the lamp on and its bulb cast light across the room.  
It was a typical hotel room but it had the same vintage flavour as the reception had. The wallpaper was an embossed pink and green floral pattern and the carpet was the same faint creamy colour as the curtains. There was a mahogany bureau, a wide wardrobe and two small tables flanking the white double bed. However all the drawers and compartments were empty.  
There was a bathroom with a toilet, sink and bath-tub shower too.  
Everything was clean but also remarkably plain. The only interesting object was an old-fashioned candlestick phone. She recognised it from the "Roaring Twenties" exhibit that the museum had just a few months ago. It had a separate mouth-piece and listening device, connected by a wire.  
Curiously, Cassidy took up the listening piece and held it to her ear.  
"Is this a prop?" she thought. "Or does this old thing actually work?"  
She could hear a vague whirring sound but she couldn't tell whether or not it was a dial tone. She sighed, hanging up the listening device once more. It was no use: even if the phone worked, it had no keys or even a rotary-dial. How was she supposed to call someone?  
She may have been an archaeologist but she was an expert when it came to statues and sculptures, not household appliances from the past.  
Cassidy paced the room, what felt to her like a thousand times over, until she knew every centimetre of it. Thoughts of escape were running through her mind in a constant, unconscious, monotonous drone like the drumming of hooves.

The door was locked tight from the outside.  
There was an air-vent in both the bedroom and the bathroom but neither were big enough for her to fit her head into, let alone her entire body.  
The window was also stuck tight. That said, the room had to be on what was at least the fourth floor.  
There was no way that climbing out of the window was an option.

Cassidy tried the door for the hundredth time, trying to force the handle down without her plans coming to any kind of fruition.  
She groaned, knuckling her forehead and trying to ease the headache that was splintering behind her temples.  
Did she even really want to get out? Supposing that she got into the hallway, those angel…statue…_things_…were still out there.

"Michael is still out there," she thought, trying to peer out of the keyhole. "Isn't he?"  
The door didn't have any kind of spy-hole so she couldn't tell for certain.

The young woman came to sit on the bed, sinking down into the springs of the mattress and running her fingers through her hair.  
Where was she? What was this place? How was she going to get home? To her job? To her mother?  
What were those stone monsters planning on doing with her?

The whole situation didn't feel real.  
Yet the pain in her limbs, the soreness in her head and her heart's constant, quavering, terrified beat told her that it was all really happening.

"Oh God," Cassidy whispered under her breath, tears starting to seep from her eyes once more. "Oh God, what is this? This is so fucked up. This is so fu-…"

A loud, shrill ringing suddenly jerked her from her despair. She looked around frantically for the source of the ringing and found it to be coming from the candlestick phone.  
She approached it cautiously- as though it was a rabid dog. Slowly, she placed a hand over the listening piece, brought it carefully to her ear and guided the mouthpiece into position.

"H-Hello?"  
"Hello, Cassidy? Cassidy Albright?"  
She was surprised to hear a young man's British accent answer her but it was certainly not a voice that she recognised.

"Y-y-yes, who is this?"  
The man gave a sigh of what sounded like relief. "Ah, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you, Cassidy. I've been trying to find you for three hours now."

"Yes but who _is_ this? How do you know who I am?"  
"Ah yes! How rude of me. We've met before. I'm the doctor."  
"…Doctor who?"  
"No, just the _doctor_…don't you…oh, that's right…we haven't met properly yet…ahem, um…the funeral! Do you remember meeting me after the funeral? Oh gosh…it would have been …three weeks ago?"

Cassidy blinked, realising. "You…you were the man in the blue police box."  
"Yes, yes! That's exactly right! Now, you need to listen to me very carefully, Cassidy."

She didn't know why or how he had managed to call her, all she knew was that this could be her one and only chance of rescue.

"Doctor…I...you have to help me. I'm trapped in s-some place…a hotel…I d-don't know where…"  
"Yes, I know. Don't worry. I know."  
"Y-You _know_?"  
"Yes and I know all about the angels too. I know that the angel from the museum stalked you, found you and with one touch, transported you to somewhere you've never seen before."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know all of this?"  
"I've dealt with these creatures before, Cassidy. I know exactly what they're capable of."  
"Creatures? You mean the statues?"  
The man took a deep but hoarse breath. "They're not really statues, Cassidy. They're only statues when they're being directly observed by another living creature…"

"W-what?"  
"They are _quantum-locked_. It's a fact of their existence. When watched by another creature, their bodies turn to stone…"  
"…so you're telling me that the statue that I brought to the museum…is actually a creature that comes to life every time someone isn't watching it?"  
"Precisely. They're century old creatures from far across the galaxy," he told her, matter-of-factly. "Lonely assassins, they used to be called. Now, they're more commonly known as Weeping Angels. Of course, when they're frozen in stone, they're not really _weeping _at all. They're just covering their eyes to prevent themselves from looking at another being of their kind."  
His tone was casual and completely serious. The lack of any kind of a dramatic tone in his voice indicated that he wasn't trying very desperately to convince her that all of this was true. He was simply stating a fact.  
As such and after all she had seen, Cassidy could only assume that everything that the man had said so far was true. Not to mention, aside from any other reason, he was the only person who knew where she was and the only one she could trust.

"So…these… "Weeping Angels"…they're… _aliens_?"  
"Yes, exactly. Aliens who are famed for their extreme ruthlessness and cruelty."  
Cassidy took a deep breath. "Alright…I understand…but what do they want with _me_?"  
"They've made you part of their feeding grounds…for _now._ The females are content to feed off of you for now but the angel that you took to the museum…" The doctor gave a grunt of annoyance. "Please, please promise me that you'll try and stay away from him. Don't do anything that he tries to get you to do and ignore him at all costs."

"Feeding grounds?!" Cassidy repeated, half-deliberately ignoring the latter half of his statement. "They're going to _feed off of me?!"_

"Yes th.-a -..s…'ime…d-…and…years…"  
Cassidy frowned. "You're starting to break up, doctor. I can only barely hear you…"  
"..ang…ou…." There was a loud clicking sound and the doctor's voice came back clearly again. "The transmission is starting to die. I don't have much time left, Cassidy."  
"Doctor, I-!"  
"I just need you to listen for a moment. Please. There are three very important things that you need to remember about dealing with the Weeping Angels. Firstly, don't turn your back on them and don't blink, if you can manage it. Their greatest strength is also their greatest weakness and they're easier to deal with when they're frozen and you can see them. Watch out though, because they're wickedly fast…"

Cassidy swallowed. "Yes, yes, I've noticed that. What else?"  
"Secondly, even when they are frozen, keep looking at them but don't look directly into their eyes. Your mind is your best weapon against them. Don't allow them any access to it."  
She didn't have the slightest idea what he meant by that but hearing the line starting to break again, she quickly replied. "Alright, I won't look into their eyes. What's the third thing?"  
"Make sure that you don't have any photographs or drawings of the angels in your room…any image that contains an angel, becomes itself an angel…oh…oh no…"

"What? What is it?"

"It's them…they've noticed our signal…they're trying to cut me off…"  
"Can't you stop them?"  
"Not at the moment, Cassidy. I'm going to drop the line but don't worry, we're already looking for you. We'll find you soon."

"What? No! Doctor! Please don't go…please…they'll kill me, won't they?"  
"…No, Cassidy. I promise you that they won't."  
"How do you know that? You said that they're renowned for being cruel…that they want to feed from me…"  
"I know you in the future, Cassidy. You're not going to die anytime soon."  
"You…know me…in the…?"  
"Yes, yes…I 'an't…expl…I…the line is breaking again..."  
"Doctor?! Please you have to help me. Will you call again?"  
"I promise you, Cassidy…I'll find you soon and everything will all be alright again…just remember what I told you and stay where you are. Stay right where you are. Don't try to escape." She noticed that his voice had ascended from calm and diplomatic to frighteningly urgent and each word was laced with worry. "I…I really wish that I could help you. If I could, I'd take you away from there right now."  
"...Doctor, what is going to happen to me here?"

"Cassi'…ou..'an…as…and just don't trust anything he tells you."  
"What?" Cassidy's breath started to grow shallow, stopping in her throat and barely permeating her lungs. "Don't trust anything _who_ tells me?"

"I'm sorry, but he's heard us."  
"D'you m-mean Michael? You mean Michael, d-don't you?"  
"He's coming for you, Cassidy. Stay strong."  
"Doctor? _Doctor!? _Don't go!"  
"I…I'm 'orry, 'assidy…"  
"_Doctor!?_"

The lamp in the corner of the room suddenly flickered and a cold rush of air swept over her, causing her to tremble.  
"Doctor?" she repeated, only to have nothing but thin silence answer her.  
The line had gone completely dead.

She slowly looked up and her body jerked as she let out a breathless scream.  
The huge, stone, male angel whom she had christened Michael, was standing right beside the bed and towering over her.  
In one of his hands was, what appeared to be a black string. It took Cassidy a few shocked, silent minutes to realise that what he was holding was the wire that connected the phone to the wall: he had torn it out.

She swiped the corners of her eyes with her thumb, trying to dry them without blinking. She had had enough of crying and she tried to look up at him with defiance.  
"You're a liar!" she shouted at the figure of stone. "You're a liar! You fooled us all at the museum into thinking that you were just a normal statue! You…you fooled _me_…" She swallowed. "But I know what you _really_ are. A weeping angel? Is that it? You're an alien. You're a monster! It all makes sense…" Cassidy's eyes widened as she started to think clearly for this first time. "You must have tampered with the cameras at the museum and…the disappearances…it was all you!"  
Her breathing had become ragged. "Well you're in trouble now! Because there's a man. A doctor. He's knows all about you…he's going to come here and he's going to…"

Half-drowned in excitement and hysteria, Cassidy had let her eyelids slip and had blinked. The first thing she felt was something cold against her right cheek.  
The stone angel had stooped to her level, so that his eyes were staring deeply into hers. His large, stone hand was now cupping her cheek and holding her head.  
Her lips were quivering, spilling shallow, scared breaths on to Michael's own smooth, grey ones. His movements were so tender that they frightened her.  
What frightened her most was the fact that he was smiling.  
Not a malign, cruel or cold smile this time.  
It was a gentle, handsome smile…like the one she used to picture on his face whenever she dreamt about him coming to life at the museum.  
She felt sick to her stomach and ashamed of herself as her cheeks started to grow hot and a certain lightness started to flutter in her stomach.

"_No,"_ she told herself. _"He's a monster. He kidnapped you. He's going to hurt you. Remember what the doctor said."_  
"I know what you're doing," she whispered shakily. "I don't trust you at all…I don't…I…"  
Her eyes were suddenly locked on his.  
His eyes were grey, blank and unmoving but she could feel that he was staring deeply into her own blue, watery eyes. She was so scared and at the same time, didn't know what to feel. A single, stray tear slipped from the corner of her right eye and slowly trickled down her cheek, rolling across Michael's thumb in a sparkling bead of moisture...

"_No! Don't look into his eyes! Remember what the doctor told you!"  
_

She looked away from him immediately but in the haste of her actions and panicked, she looked away from him _completely._  
Cassidy felt a harsh, stinging, white-hot pain lash across her cheek._  
_In that split second, Michael had raked his now-clawed fingers down the side of her face, tearing into the vulnerable, soft flesh.  
And all the while, he was still smiling at her.

Cassidy gave a dry sob, tearing her head away from him and clapping a hand to her now-bleeding cheek.  
Without another word, she got up and ran straight into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. She crouched down beside the toilet, crying and fumbling for toilet paper to press against her bloodied face.  
She could hear him outside in the bedroom, moving around. She could hear relentless thudding and scratching but not once, did he pound upon the door as he had done before. She heard the main door to the room open and slam shut but still too scared to even contemplate running outside, she remained in the bathroom.

Cassidy stayed there for what felt like an hour, but might have been- in reality- only fifteen minutes. She tested the taps and found that they dispensed clean, hot and cold water. She also, with muted appreciation, noticed that the bathroom cabinet had small bottles of shampoo, tooth-paste, cakes of paper-covered soap, old-fashioned scented water, a toothbrush and a frilly pink shower cap. She took them out of the cabinet, laid them on the floor, stacked them, counted them, sniffed the bottles, tried on the shower cap and placed them back upon the white shelves once more.  
She cleaned the wound on her cheek with dampened toilet tissue, trying to ignore how wan and pathetic the girl in the mirror looked.  
"The doctor said that the angel sent me back in time somehow," she thought numbly. "Is that true? Am I really in another time?"  
Nothing felt real to her at that moment in time.

After a while, she opened the door a fraction and peered out. Finding that the angel was no longer in the room, she walked back into the bedroom. There was no clock in the room but the single window now revealed that it was now night-time.  
Cassidy walked over to the window, looking out into the night sky- inky black and studded with winking, diamond-esque stars. She wondered if anyone else was looking up at those same stars and had anywhere near the same weight on their heart as her.  
She thought of her mother and hoped that the elderly woman was alright.  
She also managed to console herself that if Michael was here with her, at least he wasn't anywhere near her mum, her friends or the museum, causing trouble in London.

She blinked, hearing a man's hacking cough from the wall beside her.  
Realising that it was coming from the other room- the room that the asthmatic man from earlier had been pushed into. The walls must have been hollow enough to allow sound to pass through.  
Not quite sure what she was doing, she slowly rapped her knuckles against the wall, once…and then twice.

"Hello? Sorry, are you alright?"  
The man coughed again, apparently stumbling around the room by the sound of it. Though after a few moments, he responded to her. "Yeah…yeah, I'm alright."  
He still sounded rather callous and irritated, so instinctively, Cassidy tried to make her voice as soothing as possible.

"I…I'm sorry if I offended you earlier."  
"…you didn't _offend_ me, kid. You just royally fucked up my plans."

"It's just…my mum has asthma…I've seen the attacks before. If yours had gotten any worse out there…you probably would have died…"  
He gave a sardonic snort. "That was the idea. I exposed myself to some dust in the carpet. Lay there for a few hours and breathed it right in. Knew my lungs would kick off sooner or later. Just wanted those stone assholes to watch me die."

Cassidy's eyes widened. "You were trying to kill yourself? Why?"  
The man gave a dry, humourless chuckle. "Those angel things…whatever the fuck they are…they apparently _feed_ off of your life energy…the longer you live, the more they can eat. I didn't fancy being a part of their great big buffet much longer…"  
"But…but…" she stammered, shaking her head. "That's no reason to end your own life. You should put your energy into trying to _escape_."  
The man was laughing now. "Girlie, I've been here for exactly sixteen months and I can already tell you that there is no fucking way out of here. Even when they let us outside, they always find us and they always send us back." He coughed again before going on. "And if there's one thing I've learned from being here, is that they've sorted us into two groups. When you got into your lovely room, girlie, was there an old woman in your bed? Saying that she was you from the future?"

Cassidy pressed her ear a lot more firmly to the wall, feeling the pattern of the flowers starting to embed into her aching, wounded cheek. "No…no, there wasn't…but why…?"  
The man cut her off with a frighteningly high-pitched snigger. "That means that you don't live out the rest of your life here. You don't die here as an old woman."  
"So…I could escape?"  
"Weren't you fucking listening? You don't escape, kid. The stone bastards kill you for disobedience or to make room for more people or you kill yourself first, before they can…"

Cassidy took a step back from the wall, walking away and over to the bed.  
She couldn't hear the man anymore and truthfully, she didn't want to hear anymore that he had to say.  
She took off her shoes and slowly climbed into the bed, each movement in the purgatory between lethargic and automatic. She was tired- physically and mentally.  
She let her head sink into the pillow and just as she closed her eyes, she made a promise and a wish.

She promised herself that the man's grim prophecy would not come true. The doctor had said so. She was _not_ going to die here.

She wished that when she next opened her eyes, she would be in her bed at home at this whole nightmare would be over.

* * *

The doctor slammed the transmitter down, frowning so deeply that worry-lines entrenched his milk-white forehead.  
He looked to Clara. "They cut me off."  
His companion, in turn, looked down at the TARDIS console, her eyes glancing over the screens. "Did you manage to trace the call, doctor?"

The timelord shook his head. "No…no, the TARDIS couldn't pick up on her time signature- the essence that is left in the time stream when a being passes through. I know that she's somewhere in 1923 but the question is _where_?" He groaned. "We need a stronger time signature."

Clara Oswald furrowed her brow. "What about the time signature from the angel?"  
The doctor nodded, beckoning for her to follow him out of the TARDIS as he shrugged his long trench coat on to his shoulders. "My thoughts exactly. We need to see if we can pick up on the angel's time travelling trail…" He brandished his sonic screwdriver, wiggling it under her nose before popping it back into his pocket. "…and to do that, we need to find out where Cassidy Albright was when he abducted her…"  
The duo stepped out of the blue police box and Clara noticed where they had landed for the first time. She looked across the busy London street, scanning the museum's majestic front façade.

"So we'll be starting at the museum? Her workplace and the one place we know she's definitely been?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow up at her gangly companion.  
"Quick and clever as always, my dear Clara," the doctor praised with a wink. "Inspired by information sourced by you, yourself and the magic of Google."

The two of them crossed the street, Clara having to take at least five quick, high-heeled steps to meet the doctor's great, sweeping strides.  
When they got into the museum, the first and most outstanding point of notice was that an entire area of the entrance hall had been marked off by yellow police tape.

"Well," Clara said, bemused. "That looks like a good place to start."  
The doctor nodded and the two of them headed over to the tape. They were just about to lift the tape and walk right on through but they were promptly stopped by a tall, bespectacled young man with loose, almost white-blonde hair.

"Sorry, no entrance here today," he told them, lifting a hand. "If the police tape wasn't a good enough indication for you; this area is off limits to all museum-guests for the time-being…"  
The doctor eyed the clipboard in the man's hand, taking his own black-framed glasses from his pocket and slipping them on.

"Yes, well, we are not museum guests, sir," he proclaimed, flicking the psychic paper in front of the young man's eyes before folding it away. "I am Doctor John Smith of the historical research centre of the Isle of Man and this is Doctor Clara Oswald of the national historical…archaeology department of Ontario, Canada." He adjusted his glasses, peering down the railed-off hallway. "Why ever is this area off-limits? Looks nice and safe to me."

The young man frowned. "There's been an art-theft that the police are still investigating. A statue was stolen last night." He sighed. "And it's now my duty to catalogue every other object in the museum to make sure nothing else has been stolen…so if there's no other way I can help you…"  
"Actually there is!" the doctor said quickly, clapping a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving.  
"Yes, ah…we were actually hoping to talk with one of Ernst Hewitt's apprentice archaeologists," Clara continued. "A Miss Albright? Is she here today?"

The young man blinked, turning around immediately. "Cassidy?" He shook his head, suddenly looking very, very worried, indeed. "No…she didn't show up for work this morning. I've been trying to call her all day but…"

The doctor squeezed the young man's shoulder, cutting across him. "I just realised that we never asked. How rude of us. What's _your_ name?"  
The young man looked up at him, over the rim of his glasses. "Edmund. Edmund Potter. I'm an archaeologist in Cassidy's department."

The doctor grinned widely, raising an eyebrow and lowering his voice.  
"Well, Mr Potter. I do believe that you're as eager to find Cassidy Albright as we are and…if you're willing to take a little time off work, I think you can help us do exactly that."

**Hope you've enjoyed reading! :D  
The next chapter will be up soon! Let me know what you think. **


	8. VIII

**This one is going to be rather short in comparison to the others but nonetheless, I hope that you'll enjoy. There are brief references to the Dr Who written fiction piece "The Kiss of the Angel." It's a spin-off book featuring River Song as Melody Malone and is based on the novel seen in "Angels Take Manhattan." If you haven't read it yet, I totally recommend it! (^-^)  
**

* * *

Cassidy was surprised at herself, at her own body and how quick it was to betray the workings of her mind.  
She brushed all images of Michael to farthest corners of her thoughts, almost desperately trying not to think about him.  
About how close his lips had been to hers earlier.  
About the way his hand had cradled her cheek.  
About how perfectly soothing his smile had been.  
About his eyes and how they were just as handsome as she'd always dreamt them to be, all those weeks ago when she was tirelessly working on him back at the museum, innocently under the belief that he was just a mere statue.

"But he's _not_ just a statue," she reminded herself chidingly, turning over beneath the sheets of the bed. "Remember what the doctor said. He's a _monster_. An _alien_. You can't trust him. Look what he did to your face earlier! You can still feel the pain in that gash, can't you? He only used you before and now he's still using you…"

"…_but using me for what?"_ a quiet, nervous voice in the back of Cassidy's mind suddenly questioned.  
It was true. She still had no idea what he wanted with her.  
The doctor had said that the _females_ were happy to feed off of her.  
If what the pessimist next door had told her was to be trusted, they were feeding off of her life years. She had no clue what exactly this entailed but the main thing that upset her stomach and chilled her to the core was that for some reason, Michael was not content to simply have her as a meal.

"Stop thinking about him," she told herself. "Stop thinking about him and get some sleep."

For the second time that night, Cassidy's body was quick to betray her.

Despite the fact that she was still terrified of the angels that lurked outside her door- the ones that could move freely in the dark, when she had her eyes clothes and for all she knew, could freely enter her room at will- she soon found her eyelids drooping of their own accord.  
The double bed she lay in was surprisingly comfy- the sheets pleasantly cool against her exposed skin and the pillows beneath her head were exquisitely soft and deep.  
Not to mention that it had started to rain once more and the low, rushing hum of the heavy storm outside provided the perfect soundtrack to aid her relaxation.  
Fatigue soon stole over her and without the aid of any kind of music or droll task, Cassidy found herself falling into a deep sleep.

It was only when he could hear her heartbeat starting to slow down and her breathing starting to become deeper and rhythmic that the Weeping Angel dubbed "Michael", slipped back into his new favourite possession's bed chamber.

She was in the bed, deep in slumber now.  
Her form- so small and frail in comparison to his- was now curled up beneath the white sheets and a kind of peace had finally stolen across her features.

Ever since his first night at the museum and she had briefly drifted off in the middle of her paperwork, he had always enjoyed watching her sleep.  
It was a pleasure that he couldn't quite explain or justify yet felt necessary to indulge in.

Sleep was a strange, foreign thing to the Lonely Assassin. The only "sleep" he knew was the long periods of dormancy that their kind could undergo while quantum-locked.  
The concept of dreaming was a further mystery to him.  
The idea that a being could allow their brain to completely succumb to fantasy was one that he could not fathom.

He watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, moving closer to listen to the sound of her breathing. Occasionally, she would murmur something in her sleep- usually incoherent mutters that would bring a smile to his lips.  
What brought a further smile to his lips was when she would murmur _his _name, (or at least the name that she had given him), in the midst of her slumber.  
The thought that he _pervaded_ her dreams tantalised him.  
That even in her most peaceful of moments, her mind was still focused on him.

_As his was on her. _

Michael gave a snarl, unsure where that thought had come from and truthfully, he was entirely unwilling to pursue its origins.  
There was no point in denying that his fixation on this human had become a touch…_unhealthy_, in terms of the usual behaviour of his kind towards humans. However, it was not a point of information that he wished to dwell upon.

He busied himself with watching even more intently than before, stooping so that his huge form cast a shadow over the milk-white sheets of the bed.  
After a few minutes of content observation, he moved closer again, reaching out a hand to touch the skin of her face, trailing his fingertips into her hair. He enjoyed the feeling of her delicate, soft skin against his fingers just as he did the feeling of her flaxen tresses spilling over his knuckles as he ran his hand through her hair.  
He watched his human's facial features tense and relax as he stroked her. There wasn't a chance of her even allowing herself to descend into such comfort and serenity if he were to pet her while she was awake.  
It wasn't as though he even _could_ anyway, thanks to the effects of the quantum lock.

She turned in her sleep, exposing more of her face and giving him access to more of the epidermal hide that he enjoyed so much. The skin of his own kind- even when out of quantum-lock- was still firm and cold, as their hair was much coarser and matted. Weeping Angels had evolved for combat, not comfort. In the pale light of an unveiled moon, he could see the lines on her face where his claws had torn her earlier.  
Even though every fibre of his being screamed in protest, he kept his claws retracted, to avoid marring the soft flesh any further.

"I wish for my human to be as soft and unflawed as possible," he told himself. After all, if he was going to keep her, he wanted her to be the best possible exemplar of her species. "But when she deserves punishment…" He ran a single finger down one of the freshly healed wounds, watching with a kind of sadistic glee as her brows furrowed in pain. "…I shall administer it gladly."

He had tasted her blood beneath his claws and the single tear that had grazed his fingers- running his tongue over the fresh fluids as soon as she had run from him. Having her essence left upon his body filled him with an indescribable excitement- especially as the essence was drawn from her sorrow and pain.

And she _had_ deserved her punishment earlier.  
How _dare_ the little ingrate speak in such a manner to him?  
How dare she even _think _about running away from him again?

He gave a low growl under his breath, looking to the phone on the bedside table and clenching his fists.  
She had been speaking to another human.  
This other human- this _doctor_- had sought communication with his pet because he wished to take her away from him.  
He had heard rumours of a certain _doctor _who had caused unspeakable trouble for beings of all kind and had gained a reputation for destroying the carefully-designed plans of others.  
"Let him try to take her away," he snarled internally. "I'll annihilate him just as I did all those other humans who tried to steal her away from me before. I will _eradicate_ anyone who attempts to take what is mine. They will face the might of an Angel before they even come within a radius sufficient to _look_ upon her."

He was drawn from his fuming by the sound of her murmuring in her sleep, stirring and writhing beneath the blankets. He bent down once more, laying a hand on her flushed cheek and watching with the same intrigue as before, as his actions seemed to soothe her.  
She was so _unlike_ his kind.  
So vulnerable.  
So fragile.

He slowly and silently brought his head down to hers so that he could feel her warm breath against his face as he had felt it against his lips earlier.  
She had made _such_ a good meal for him.  
Her youthful, bountiful years of life had given him even greater levels of strength.

"I will bring you something, my little slave," he told her, despite knowing that she could not hear the language of the Angels and even if she could hear it, she probably wouldn't understand a word he was saying. "I will bring you something to show my gratitude for your services. What kind of master would I be if I forgot to thank you?"

Another warm breath spilled on to his face and instantly he drew away, wary of the feelings that she ignited within him. Sometimes, his temptations became too great.  
Sometimes it took all his self-control not to put his hand around her slender, pale neck and snap it like a twig so that he could watch the light disappear from her shocked, frightened eyes.  
Sometimes it took all the strength her could muster not to press his lips to hers in an Angel's Kiss and suck every year of life from her body, feeling her bones slowly turn to dust in his arms.

But no.  
She had to be alive.  
He needed her to be alive.

Suddenly, he heard himself being called from outside the room.  
He gave an exasperated, irritated growl but managed to tear himself away from the sight of his sleeping human and silently left the bedroom.

As etiquette dictated, he immediately covered his eyes before addressing the angel who had called him.

"What is it, fledgling?"  
"Angel Ariel wishes to speak to you, Wanderer. She requests that you come as quickly as possible."

Invisibly rolling his eyes, he responded. "Very well. I shall follow you. Lead me to her."

He had happened upon this particular group of Angels in his initial travels, shortly after he had been exiled from his tribe and long before he had been trapped by the clerics who had found him in Sherwood Forest, England.  
He knew that Angels had been running a communal feeding ground which involved hoarding humans and using their energy signatures, he had tracked them down during his time at the museum. At night, with no cameras, it was easy to travel back and forth across the time stream.  
When he wasn't following his human home to watch her sleep in her own bed, of course.

He had long decided that if he truly wanted a human slave, keeping her to himself would be paramount. Therefore, a farm where humans could be kept seemed the perfect place to take her. He would always have access to nourishment and all the while, he could ensure that her attentions were never diverted by any other human.

When it came to the proposition of joining them, the Summer Bank Angel clan were not difficult to convince.  
After all, why would they refuse?  
Their group consisted solely of females and he was a fully grown Weeping Archangel.  
The rare, powerful, males of their species._  
_

The idea of an angel keeping a human as a pet had amused them greatly and he had already entertained them with stories of his time at the museum and the bizarre, absurd things that he had seen the humans do and say.  
He had struck a deal with the head Angel of the clan.  
This deal allowed him to store his human safely in the building and to visit her whenever he pleased. In return, he would hunt with the clan and contribute to the food supply.

He followed the young Angel to the hotel's ballroom downstairs. The grand hall was in complete darkness, allowing the two of them to raise their gaze and to move freely, without fully covering their eyes.  
Although his eyes were adapted to such darkness, he could not see the outlines of the other Angels. He could sense them though. There were at least twenty other females in the room, listening, aside from the adolescent Angel who had brought him there and Angel Ariel, who was sitting at the highest point in the room.

"Greetings, Angel Ariel," he said aloud, announcing his presence. "You wished to see me?"

He heard a low laugh from the head Angel and she responded.  
"Ah, Wanderer. Greetings. That human of yours is a feisty one, is it not?"

He merely raised an eyebrow. "She is lively when allowed to be, if not a little brazen. However, she is perfectly timid when correctly _disciplined_."

A ripple of appreciative laughter echoed around the room, the other Angels clearly approving of his power over the human girl.

"Indeed," Ariel went on. "It's years are good. Very plentiful and very satiating. It's a respectable specimen…" A waver entered her tone and he could hear that she had risen from her seat. "Even if your exact reasons for wishing to hold on to this particular human are rather dubious."

He simply shrugged, unmoving and unchallenged. "She entertains me. Her behaviour is forever changing and observing her is never a dull pastime for me. Additionally, she possesses the skills necessary to heal and care for me should I ever be injured." He gave a snort of laughter. "And did she not preserve one of your own victims earlier today?"

"That said," Ariel cut across him. "Your current state of affairs with this human still raises an awful lot of questions. You understand that, don't you, Wanderer?"  
She had been referring to him as "The Wanderer" following his refusal to introduce himself and relinquish his real name to them. Honestly speaking, he preferred the title of "Michael" that his human had given him but he was certainly not going to make that public information among the other Angels.

"I understand," he replied curtly, simply nodding his head and folding his wings behind himself.

"When exactly do you plan on delivering the ransom that we agreed upon?"  
"The child? I shall bring her here for you all to feed upon when I see necessary," he orated coolly. "_Patience_, Angel Ariel. I had to prove myself to you before you permitted me to stay here but now _I _must judge everyone here trustworthy enough to be deserving of my terms of the agreement."  
"Trustworthy enough? Have we not given you the room for your human, as agreed?"  
"Yes, but we also agreed that no Angel here would lay a hand upon my human. She is mine and mine alone." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I will give you a fortnight and provided that Cassidy is unscathed, I will deliver the child."

Ariel was silent for a moment, as though mulling over the situation in her mind, though after a few minutes, she gave a surprisingly jovial laugh. "Very well, Wanderer. We'll play your game. A fortnight it is." She alighted from her podium, sauntering down the steps and addressing the group. "Now, we shall partake in a leisurely hunt with our brethren in the city." He could feel her gaze turn to him in the dark and he felt the bare tip of her feathers brush against his. Her voice had dropped several octaves to a much gentler purr. "Will you join us, Wanderer?"

He turned to leave, ignoring her obvious advances. "I must graciously decline your offer, Angel Ariel. I have other matters to attend to, this evening…"  
He had skilfully rejected any other attempts at seduction thrust upon him since he had gotten there. As far as he was concerned, he was not here to make cherubs and the more often and publically he relayed that message, the more likely it was that he would be left in peace.

Ariel was silent for a moment, but even without looking at her, he could tell that her fangs were starting to protrude.  
"As you wish, Wanderer…"

Not showing any fear in the wake of her icy tone, he began to walk away.  
But her next words halted him once more.

"Cassidy."

He whipped his head around immediately. "Excuse me?"

"Cassidy," Ariel repeated with a smirk that he could practically _hear_. "That's the human's name, is it not?" She gave a light and patronising snort of laughter. "We were all discussing it earlier. You often refer to the human by its given name. It's …endearing."

He frowned, continuing to walk away and out of the ballroom.  
"I should find it redundant to call her much else, seeing as she would not answer to much else."

"That is also very sweet… very quaint, Wanderer!"

"…what is?"

"That you actually think that you can speak to it."

He left without another word, not feeling the need to indulge them in the slightest and not wanting to give Ariel the Wench-Angel the satisfaction of hearing his response.  
He had enough of her childish envy, her abrasiveness and her falsity.

The errand that he had intended to carry out did not take him as long as he had initially thought it might. He traversed the time-stream with ease, travelling to the grove in Sherwood forest that he had happened upon so many years ago.  
He plucked a single red bloom from the twisted limbs of the bushes strewn across the ground and took the earth-grown flower called "a rose" back with him to the Summer Bank.

He slipped back into the room where his human slept and bent to leave the rose upon the pillow beside her.  
True, he did not have the previous delight of fooling her into thinking that somebody else had left her the flower and watching her struggle with the mystery of who exactly the culprit was.  
However, even so, each time she saw the rose, a brief look of surprise and delight flashed across her eyes.

That look alone- the flicker of joy that she couldn't disguise- satiated him with enough amusement to continue the habit.

He lingered for a moment, watching her in the serenity of her slumber, in the stolen reverie of her dreams and after a moment of consideration, reached out to stroke her face just once more.  
"You are mine," he whispered in his native tongue. "My pet. My slave. My human. _Mine_. Just let them try to take you away from me."

As he walked out of the room, his mind drifted back over what Ariel had said earlier.  
She was right.  
Maybe he couldn't speak to her.

Yet.


	9. IX

She dreamt of being in the cave again.  
As always, she could see the sloping, slanting silhouettes of stalagmites and stalactites- either hanging down from the high, arching ceiling or spiking upward from the damp floor that stretched beneath her feet.

She knew that they were all around her, watching her.  
They had been waiting for her, after all.  
And now, she finally knew what to call them.

_Weeping Angels. _

She knew that _he_ was among them too.  
He was the one giving the orders, it appeared.

She didn't know whether or not she should start walking again for she could no longer see the ring of light that marked the mouth of the cave.  
She could hear a low murmuring coming from all around her. Were they talking about her? What were they saying?  
Feeling increasingly frightened as the murmuring grew louder and angrier, like a hive full of angry bees, she considered starting to run.

Suddenly she heard a single, clear voice above all of the others..  
A male voice.

"_Hello? Cassidy Albright? Are you there? Are you awake?" _  
"Hello. Yes, I'm right here. I can't see you though. Who are you?"  
_"I have come for you, Cassidy." _  
"Are you…are you the doctor?"  
_"No. I am not the doctor." _  
"…then who are you, exactly?"  
_"You know who I am." _

It was then that Cassidy could see _his_ outline among the shadows, slowly emerging from the drapes of darkness all around them. She still had no idea where the pale light above her head was coming from but it was not long before the Weeping Angel who served as her captor was fully bathed in the glow. He was staring down at her with that same handsome smile from before that seemed to _invade _her.  
It set fear seeping into her skin yet a frightening kind of warmth permeated her chest, making her feel light and dizzy.

"What do you want now?" she demanded to know, trembling.  
To her own terror, the pale light above her head suddenly flickered on and off and in that split second of blindness, Michael moved forward and grabbed her forearm.

"Don't touch me!" Cassidy shouted, desperately trying to pull her arm away. "Let me go! Let me go!"  
Suddenly Michael seemed to dissolve into the blackness around her. The shadows melted away like ink on a waxen canvas and soon, she was standing in the museum again.  
She found herself facing the painting that Leon had showed her.

"_What was it called?"_ she asked herself numbly. "La Belle et le Bête? The Beauty and the Beast?"  
The huge hulking monster's arms were fast tight around the young maiden's body. Was he restraining her or embracing her? Did it depict an awful abduction or an act of love?

Cassidy found her mind briefly wandering to the tale of Hades and Persephone: another of her favourite Greek myths.  
Her eyes traced the painting, the colours seeming to swirl, glow and blend before her very eyes.  
A jolt of shock ran through her body when the painted damsel's head suddenly turned to look at her. The girl's eyes were wide with fear and her body was twitching all over as she pushed against the chest of the beast.

"_Don't let him!"_ she shrieked in an unearthly, almost inhuman voice. _"Don't let him!" _

Then the paint started to run, the two figures melting into each other as the colours dripped from the canvas. The paint leaked over the edges of the frame and started to pool on the ground at her feet.  
It was then that Cassidy realised that she was in the cave again. In the dark.

The light grew weaker and weaker until she could no longer see the painting at all.  
She could just hear the paint dripping into a puddle on the stone floor.  
And the dripping grew fainter.  
And fainter.  
And fainter.

But still, the painted woman's voice echoed in her ears.  
_"Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him!"  
_With each repeat of the cryptic warning, the shrill, inhuman voice became more and more like her mother's voice.  
_"Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him!" _

Cassidy's eyes suddenly snapped open and she awoke with a start, shuddering. The room was bright- golden sunlight blazing through the white linen curtains. The air was also warm and stuffy; she could feel that her skin was slick with sweat, her hair clinging to her neck and the sheets starting to stick to her legs.

Despite all of that, she felt cold enough to shiver.  
A hollow feeling formed in her heart, perhaps with the realisation that even if her current situation was just a crazy nightmare, it was one that she would not wake up from anytime soon.  
She tried to sit up in vain, only to fall back into the pillows with a groan. Her head felt like a lead balloon, her temples throbbing and her eyelids aching.  
She rolled over in the bed, grunting and squirming as she felt something leafy and twisted press against her cheek.

Mustering her strength, Cassidy propped herself up on one elbow to inspect the foreign object in her bed.

It was a single, wild red rose.  
And it wasn't from Louisa.  
It wasn't from Leon.

It was from the monster who had kidnapped her.

Cassidy gritted her teeth as a feeling of betrayal overcame her, permeating her skin and taking over her entire body. She snatched up the rose, not caring as the thorns bit into the skin of her palm and flung the bed-covers back.  
With anger fuelling her actions, she stormed over to the bathroom- her heart and mind set on flushing the rose straight down the toilet so that she wouldn't have to look at her captor's humiliating, patronising pseudo-token-of-affection.

But it was when her hand was hovering over the porcelain bowl, her fingers limp around the rose's delicate stem that she was suddenly unable to drop it.  
She gazed at the flower that she held for a moment, slowly retracting her arm. It really was a flawless rose. The petals were the deepest natural crimson and the velvet folds were fanned in the peak of a perfect bloom. The slender, verdant stem may have been lined with small, curved thorns and asymmetric leaves but that was only because it was a wild rose.  
Unlike the cheap Valentine's roses from the local supermarket and the chemically enhanced, almost artificial roses that the florist's often stocked, this one was a natural beauty.

Changing her mind as she fingered the soft petals, Cassidy tucked the rose into the waistband of her shorts.  
Her war was with Michael, she decided and their war needed no casualties.  
"Not even flowers," she told herself. "_Especially_ not flowers."

Almost automatically, Cassidy wandered over the sink and filled one of the glass tumblers next to the sink with water. She placed the flower into the glass of water and carefully carried it back into the room, setting it down on the bedside table.

"Very nice," she observed aloud, partly worried at the normality of her own thoughts. "The room could use some brightening up anyway."

Using the plastic comb in the bathroom, a wad of tissues, a cake of soap and some hot water, Cassidy managed to tame her tangled hair into submission and to blot the sweat from her skin.  
She hadn't a clue why she was even bothering to make herself presentable but she had always been taught to live by the phrase "organise your appearance and your mind will follow", so that seemed like a good starting point.  
"That's rich," she thought, studying herself in the mirror. "Considering that _you_, Cassidy Albright, would happily go gallivanting down the High Street in nothing but a band t-shirt, baggy jeans and converse."

She made another attempt at escape, pacing the room. She tried the door but it was still locked.  
Her attempt on the window was twofold, not only was she testing to see if it would open but the room was also far too warm for her liking.  
A cool breeze would be more than welcome at that very moment in time.  
But her efforts were to be wasted for the window still wouldn't budge. Looking out the window, she could see the river across the street and the sunlight, gleaming on the rise of each wave.  
Where was she? The doctor had said that the Weeping Angels sent their victims back in time. Was she really in the past? And if so, was she still even in England?

It brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.  
She could vividly remember having a long conversation with Louisa about the merits of time-travel and what she would do if she had access to Hermione Granger's time-turner from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.  
She had spent most of her life just dreaming about that kind of magic.  
She never thought for a second that she would one day become a _victim_ of such magic.

On edge, agitated, bored and sweltering from the heat, Cassidy found herself resorting to making the bed to entertain/distract herself. It wasn't long before she was singing to herself, knowing that it would calm her.  
True, her voice was flat, low and prone to going completely out of tune but she didn't care. Just having some kind of melody to break the silence helped to ease her mind.

"_Sometimes I feel, I've got to run away," _she crooned lightly, pulling the sheets across the mattress. _"I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me. The love we share seems to go nowhere. Now I've lost my light for I toss and turn, I can't sleep at night." _ She crawled across the crisp sheets to fluff one of the pillows. _"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you. This tainted love you've given, gave you all a girl could give you. Take my tears and that's not nearly all…" _

She jumped, her voice warbling on the final note when she suddenly heard something thump against the back wall.

"Hello? Ma'am?"

Cassidy reeled back from the wall for a moment before kneeling up against the headboard, realising that the voice was coming from the next room.  
It was the asthmatic man.

"Oh, hello…" She paused, a little apprehensive after the way he had spoken to her the day before. "…um…are you feeling any better?"

"Yes ma'am. A lot better," he said, his voice much softer than the night before. "I just heard you singing there and I figured I'd better apologise for the way I acted last night. I really am thankful for you helping me out. I guess, last night, I just wasn't myself…"  
"It's fine," Cassidy told her fellow prisoner. "It's fine. I won't hold it against you." She smiled faintly, happy to be talking to another human being.

"I'm seriously sorry, ma'am," he continued. "You just…you just get a little crazy after being here for so long."  
"I can only imagine," she murmured in return, a cruel voice in the back of her mind reminding her that very soon she wouldn't have to imagine. She spoke quickly to quell the rise of those uncomfortable thoughts. "You needn't call me "ma'am" either. My name is Cassidy. My friends call me Cass, though."

"Cass, huh? I like it," the man chuckled. "Is that a Brit I hear? I'd recognise an accent from across the pond from a mile away. You from jolly old England?"  
"Yeah, I am," she told him, starting to smile involuntarily. "Have you ever been, Mr-? Uh..."

"Stanley P. Quinn," the man said, introducing himself. "Just Stan to my friends. And nah, I've never been to England before but from what my Grandpa used to tell me, it sounds pretty nice."  
"Stan," she murmured, testing it on her tongue before smiling and saying aloud. "I like that too…and yeah, England is a pretty nice place I guess. Where are you from, Stan?"  
"I was born in North Carolina in the great U S of A, on the twenty seventh of July, 1944."

Cassidy's eyes widened and her heart suddenly jolted in her chest.  
"1944…Stan…how old are you?"  
"I'm twenty five, Cass. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two…"  
"Ah, you're not too much younger than me, eh? You're so little though. You looked like a teeny-bopper last night. Though, I could have been a little oxygen deprived." He chuckled but Cassidy's head was spinning.

"1944…Stan you're a _lot_ older than me." She gave a soft bark of laughter, shaking her head. "I was born in London on the fourth of March, 1991."

Stan was quiet for a moment before suddenly chuckling and whistling. "Wow, I guess I am a lot older than you. So you're from the future, huh? I've met a few different people around the hotel who aren't from my time but I think 1991 is the furthest into the future that I've ever met…"  
Cassidy smiled, sitting down on to her haunches and pressing her forehead against the wall. "Well, I've certainly never met anyone born in 1944 before."

She heard him give a dry chuckle.  
"In that case, I'm proud to be your first." His fingers drummed against the wall in a sporadic little riff before he asked her in a softened tone. "Wow, a gal from the London of the future…"

Cassidy's heart started to sink a little. "Yes. I think I'm starting to miss it already."  
Stan gave a long sigh. "The homesickness can get pretty terrible here and I'm gonna be honest with ya, Cass: it only gets worse after today."

"I could go a year without seeing Big Ben or Buckingham Palace, if I'm honest," Cassidy told him. "But my mum is very sick at the moment. Well, she's been sick for as long as I can remember but now she's gotten really, really bad. I…" The young woman took a deep breath, trying to swallow back the tears that were slowly flooding her eyes. "I really should be with her right now."

"That's rough, Cass. I'm really sorry to hear that…if it's any consolation, I know how you feel."

"Oh, is your mum unwell too?"  
"Nah, momma is fine and healthy. She'll just be missing my pops something terrible. He ended up being drafted a few months before I left and now he's gone to war. I was in University at the time so I dodged the draft…I was lucky…Pops wasn't. I just really hope he's alright…" His voice faltered a little and when he spoke again, it was filled with vigour. "You're from the future, right Cass? The war? It ends, right? Sometimes it just feels like it's never going to end…"

Cassidy didn't know whether he was talking about the war in Vietnam or Korea but she replied with the truth that she could hold dear.  
"Yes, Stan. Yes, the war ends very soon."

His voice sounded so relieved that Cassidy felt an instant rush of joy run through her. "Thank the Lord. I guess all of our prayers all paid off after all." He exhaled. "So then, Miss Cassidy, I was thinking about heading out for a bite to eat? Will you join me?"

"Out?" Cassidy blinked. "How did you get out?"  
"I just walked right out of the door. Haven't you noticed that you can't lock yours? It's how they get in so easily…"  
"My door is locked. I can't get out at all."  
"Weird. They usually let us out during the day."  
"…really? Aren't they worried that you'll escape?"  
"There are over fifty people in the hotel. If we don't return before nightfall, the angels come out and they bring us back. Trust me: they don't take too kindly to runaways at all…"  
"Haven't you ever tried going to the police?"  
"The cops? I've tried telling 'em but they just thought I was crazy. They wouldn't even come with me to the hotel to see for themselves." He snorted. "I reckon they know all about what's going on and they're just too afraid to intervene. Damn angels. Then again, it's 1923 and pops used to say that all the cops were corrupt back then anyway…"

Cassidy's hand fell limply to her side and she froze. "1923? That's how far back into the past I am?"  
"Yep," Stan confirmed. "That's what the daily newspaper says. So you really can't get out? That's pretty strange."

"I've been trying the door since I got here. It's locked tight. The handle won't even turn."

Stan paused for a moment. "What about your window? If you climbed out, you could hop across to my window sill, I could let you in and you could get out my door with me."

"I can't open the window either."

"Shitbucket," Stan grunted unceremoniously. "Awh, that kills. 'Specially cause there's a real nice view of the Hollywood sign at night if you stick your head out and look over at the-…"

"The Hollywood sign!?" Cassidy exclaimed, suddenly realising the implications of this statement. She really _had_ travelled through space and time. "You mean, this hotel is in Hollywood? In Los Angeles?"  
"That's right, Cass. We're currently in L.A., California."

"Jesus Christ…"  
"Yeah, I was pretty shocked too when I realised it too. That said, I had to figure it out for myself, walking around the city. It's really bizarre that the stone bastards have you locked up."

The cogs in Cassidy's mind were already whirring, her brow creasing and her fists clenching with realisation. "I think I know the reason why."  
"Oh?"  
"Michael."  
"Michael? Who the heck is Michael?"  
"The male angel. The one who was with me yesterday."  
"Huh, that guy showed up a few weeks ago. It was weird to see a man-angel…I thought that they were all just ladies but he proved me wrong. I'll admit that our jailers started to act a little strange when he got here…like they were preparing for something…So this "Michael", how do you know him exactly? And why's he got it in for you?"

Cassidy sighed. "I think I'm the one who set him free and as for why he's after me…I'm not quite sure yet." She swallowed. "And I'm not sure whether or not I even want to know."  
Stan rapped his knuckles against the wall. "You set him free? How did you manage to do that?"  
"It's kind of a long story."  
"Not to be rude or anything, Miss Cassidy but if you haven't noticed, you and I have a lot of time on our hands…"

She sat back on the bed, crossing her legs, her eyes slowly running over the floral wallpaper. Her mind had been nothing but tumultuous since this whole ordeal with the angel had begun and the promise of being able to share her story with someone at long last, seemed like a welcome prospect.

"Alright. I'll tell you." Cassidy exhaled. "I'm an archaeologist with the London Museum. I had been doing an apprenticeship under a man called Ernst Hewitt in order to go further in the field. My coll-…my _friend_, Edmund, had to co-ordinate a dig in Sherwood Forest, Nottingham. That was where I found him…he was chained into the ground..."

* * *

The preparation room was eerily quiet.

Edmund stared at the two individuals who sat before him, his eyes wide with numb disbelief.  
The doctor sat back in his seat, perfectly calm and still smiling blithely as if nothing remotely strange was happening.  
Clara crossed her legs, leaning forward into her lap and silently praying that their newfound museum contact wasn't about to call for security.

"So, you're telling me…that Cassidy has been abducted…by aliens?"  
The doctor nodded, resting his chin on his laced fingers. "Exactly."  
"These _Weeping Angel _things? They're living statues that send people back in time?"  
Now it was Clara's turn to nod, trying her hardest to keep smiling encouragingly. "Yes, that's right."

Edmund very slowly raised an eyebrow, sitting up and leaning forward.

"Right…"

Another thin silence passed between them before the archaeologist suddenly snapped.

"Are you two having a bloody laugh?!"

Clara flinched but the doctor remained completely calm, still grinning where he sat. "Well, I personally wouldn't describe this situation as funny. Not even slightly funny. In fact, your friend is in terrible danger and I find very little humour in that…but everyone has a different sense of humour, so if you think this is funny and you want to laugh- Miss Oswald here and I won't judge you."

"Are you mad?!" Edmund returned, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Ok, ok, I may not know where Cassidy is right now and as much as it kills me to think about it, I would _accept_ that she's missing and maybe we should go to the police. But you're telling me that she was _abducted by aliens…?" _

"Uhm, just _one_ alien," Clara somewhat hesitantly corrected. "The angel statue that you brought into the museum."

"You expect me to _actually believe_ this Weeping Angel fairytale you're after telling me?!" Edmund barked, shaking his head. "Seriously? What are you two on? This is crazy…"

"It's not a fairytale," the doctor said simply, sliding the diary that he had managed to acquire from River across the table and into the young man's hands. "It's all right there. That's Raston Jovovich's journal. An expert, eye-witness document to attest to the existence and handling of the Weeping Angels."

"You can use it as part of an exhibit, if you'd like," Clara piped up. "It's a valuable resource and even if the museum helps to create an urban myth of sorts about the Weeping Angels, it'll prompt clients to be more wary of the angel if he tries to return."

Edmund sifted through the pages, his eyebrows knitting. "This? This is a book of scribbles! Why should I believe anything that either of you two have told me?"

The doctor's smile finally slipped and he stood up, leaning across the table to meet Edmund Potter's stare.  
"_Because_, Mr Potter, your friend Cassidy Albright is in _unimaginable _danger." The doctor's voice became gravely low. "She has been kidnapped by a monster with malicious intentions who will kill her, torture her or much, much worse if we do not find her and take her as far away from him as possible. You cannot imagine the kind of turmoil that she is going through right now and if you consider yourself a good friend and have a single inch of your heart that cares about Cassidy, _so help me, you will do everything you can to help us put an end to her suffering…" _

Clara felt herself smiling slightly: she had always admired the doctor's determination when it came to helping someone and it had always fascinated her how he always seemed to know just what to say to motivate someone to do what they had to.

Edmund sat back in his seat, having been rendered slightly speechless by this sudden, emotion-driven monologue. His eyes lowered and he pushed the bridge of his glasses further up his nose, sighing. "I…look, look…don't get me wrong. I do care. I do _want_ to help Cassidy. I believe you that something is wrong…that she's missing. I mean, there have been rumours about people disappearing from the museum for the past two months and now with the statue missing…something doesn't feel right…" He looked up at the doctor and Clara. "But _aliens_? Really? This all sounds pretty damn far-fetched. Now, I'll go with you to the police if you want but-…"

The doctor waved a hand. "Forget that. The police are useless. They won't be able to help Cassidy in the slightest. But you, Edmund Potter, _you_ can help her."  
Edmund sighed. "How?"  
The doctor rose from his seat. "By trusting us."  
Clara followed suit, standing up and giving the doctor a nudge accompanied by a slight smile. "Doctor…I think it's time we brought out the big guns…"

The doctor looked down at her, arching an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed that we weren't going to do this violently…"  
Clara rolled her eyes. "I _mean_ if he wants to _call_ the _police_, perhaps we should take him to the _police call box_?"  
The doctor's eyes brightened up and he clapped his hands, suddenly a lot happier. "Ah, a very good idea, Clara."

Edmund looked between the two of them, looking rather confused.  
"What…is going on?"

Before anything else could be said, Edmund found himself being grabbed by both of his arms and hauled from his seat, out of the preparation room, down the hall, out of the museum and across a busy London street- his protests being ignored all the way.

"Good God," he panted, adjusting his jacket when he was finally released. "You know, I'm starting to think that neither of you are actually employed by any kind of historical department."  
Clara cocked an eyebrow, unable to disguise a small smirk. "What was your first clue?"  
The doctor unlocked the door of the blue police box before them, offhandedly remarking. "We are rather interested in history though...my career involves me getting quite involved in historical affairs…"

He pulled the door open, waving an arm. "In we go."  
"Oh, after Mr Potter, of course," Clara chuckled, stepping aside to allow the sceptic to go first.  
Edmund shook his head, exasperated as he walked into the seemingly normal call-box. "What on earth are you two planning? The three of us are scarcely going to _fit _into this box, let alon-...oh…" His voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide as he took in the wonder of the TARDIS in all of her glory. "I…I…It's bigger on the inside…"

The doctor laughed, following him inside with Clara in tow. "Impressed, Edmund?"

"This place is...is…what is this place?" Edmund spluttered out. "There's no way that this is a normal police call box."  
"It's not. Far from it actually," the doctor told him. "This is the ever-loyal and the very sexy Time And Relative Dimension In Space, otherwise known as the TARDIS."  
Clara led him over to the dashboard and console, gesturing up to the screen where an image of a huge, hulking stone seraph had suddenly appeared. "Recognise anyone?"

"That's the statue from the museum. The "Michael" exhibit," Edmund said incredulously, pointing at the holographic image, (having finally managed to tear his eyes away from the glorious innards of the TARDIS).

"Oh, I know him well," the doctor said, a rather grim look flashing across his eyes.  
"You…know…him?" Edmund repeated, turning to look at the doctor. "Where did you… "meet" him?"  
"I had the displeasure of encountering him in my past or in the case of the current time-stream, in _Cassidy's_ future. I just didn't put two and two together when I heard about the museum exhibit because I couldn't remember where I had met Cassidy before…"

"In Cassidy's _future_?" Edmund interjected, his brow furrowing. "What are you, like, a time traveller or something?"  
Clara patted his shoulder. "A time _lord_ actually but we'll explain that later."

"Yes," the doctor said, clicking his fingers and pacing around the console until he was practically nose to nose with Edmund. "First we have to deal with what's important. Finding Cassidy. Now, the angel has taken her into the past. What's slightly frightening is that usually, Weeping Angels don't go with their victims into the past. So it's firmly important that we track her down as soon as possible. The TARDIS can place her signature somewhere near and around 1923 but we can't tell exactly _where_ she is."  
He stepped back, running his fingers over the TARDIS console and watching her come to life around him. "To track her properly, we need to find out where she was when he abducted her…so when was the last time that you saw Cassidy?"

Edmund stared at the doctor, his eyes wide and his lip twitching.  
Clara put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Believe me, I know this is a lot to take in but for Cassidy's sake, you've really got to just roll with the punches here…"

The archaeologist nodded. "Right, yesterday…I…I had coffee with Cassidy…she was really upset…she said that the angel was _chasing _her…" His brows furrowed. "Fuck…why didn't I believe her?" He knuckled his forehead. "I went back to the museum after that…the statue went missing that evening when we were locking up…and…and I called Cassidy! She wasn't picking up her mobile phone so I rang her house number at 10 or so to let her know that the statue was gone. She picked up the house-phone and answered but she hung up pretty quickly…" He swallowed. "Do you think that was when he…got her?"

The doctor nodded. "It very well may be. Do you have Cassidy's address, Edmund?"

Edmund pulled out his phone. "Yes, I've got it. I've only ever been to her house once before to drop off some files and she had to text me on the directions."  
The doctor examined the message over Edmund's shoulder. "Perfect. _Perfect_!"

"Shall I call a taxi?" Edmund offered, running for the door, only to be stopped by a laughing Clara.

"A taxi? Really? Doctor, he has no idea."

The doctor chuckled, watching Edmund's eyes pop at the sight of the TARDIS starting to move.

"Mr Potter, that's a very nice offer but we like to travel in style…"  
The floor started to vibrate and Edmund just about fell over in shock. "Wh-what's going on?"

"Get ready for the ride of a lifetime, Edmund."

* * *

"So you can listen to music from a tiny, thin piece of metal?"  
"Yes, that's exactly it!"  
"And it's called an i-poz?"  
"No, no…an i_Pod_, Stan."  
"That's so crazy. I can't even imagine it!"  
"Weird…I can't imagine living _without_ my iPod…"

Then they were laughing again.  
She and Stan had talked for most of the day and Cassidy couldn't remember the last time that she'd felt this much comfort from talking to a wall.  
In fact, talking to another human being, finally unloading all of the grief that she'd felt in the last few weeks and listening to worries and concerns that weren't her own, almost made her completely forget where she was and what was happening to her.

Cassidy knew deep down that _he_ was still watching her though.  
It had unnerved her enough when the doctor hadn't called again today but as Stan had pointed out, it was better to have some kind of rescue mission in the works than none at all so she consoled herself with that thought.

She had no way of telling the time but it was dark outside and she had switched on every light in the room when the banging started on her door.  
She let out a shrill gasp of surprise, turning on the bed and staring intently in the direction of the door.

"What is it, Cass? You ok in there?"

"It's…it's him. He's here."

Stan said something in return but Cassidy could no longer hear him.  
All she could here was the blood pounding in her ears.

The pounding on her door continued but Michael didn't seem to be trying to break it down. It was more like he was just knocking loudly.  
Announcing his presence.

It wasn't as though she could open the door for him anyway.

The inevitable happened and Cassidy was forced to blink.  
Within that blink, Michael was in the room, standing at the foot of the bed.

His huge, towering form stared down at her, watching her where she sat.  
She shuddered at his posture. His arm was outstretched, one single clawed index finger pointing straight ahead and his lips were curled in a hateful sneer.

"Wh-what is it?" Cassidy stuttered, trying to keep her eyes on him without looking directly into his glowering, slate grey eyes. "What do you want?"

It took her a few seconds to realise that the Weeping Archangel was not pointing at her but rather at the wall behind her- and that was exactly where his leer was focused.

"What's going on, Cass?" Stan called out. "Are you alright?"  
"I…I'm fine," she replied, turning her head in a heated moment of panic and completely forgetting the most important rule that the doctor had pressed upon her. When she turned back again, Michael's face had contorted with petrified rage, his lips parted to reveal his jagged teeth- open in a silent growl. His wings were also spread and his fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles of his biceps taut with confrontational anger.

And he was looking straight at the wall over her head.  
At the target of his anger.  
At Stan.

Cassidy's heart started to race.

"We're just talking," she told Michael, quietly but firmly. "Don't get angry with him. It's me that you're trying to deal with. Remember?"  
Just when Cassidy was starting to feel a little braver when speaking to her captor, Michael's actions became more sporadic.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop herself from blinking and with her next blink, Michael was right beside her, standing at the bedside. Much to her relief, his growl and glower were gone but they had been replaced by a frighteningly sadistic-looking smirk.  
His hand was outstretched and Cassidy was surprised and confused to see something dangling from his fingers. It was a kind of black strap that grew thicker in the centre before tapering into two slender ribbons on each side.

_A blindfold.  
_

He wanted her to wear a blindfold.

"N-No," Cassidy stammered automatically, shaking her head frantically. "No, no! I'm not putting that on!"  
Depriving her of her sight would rob her of her very last defence against him. She would be _completely_ at his mercy.

Cassidy was suddenly prepared to fight him off, regardless of what he tried to do to her. She was _determined_ not to let him touch her.  
Staring at him both intently and defiantly, there was a brief moment when Cassidy actually felt as though she could oppose him.  
As though she was the one in power.

Then Stan spoke.

"Cass! Cass! Don't do anything that stone bastard wants you to do! I hope he can damn well hear me right now! Leave Cassidy alone, you concrete ogre!"

In any other situation, Cassidy would have admired Stan's courage and chivalry but not right now.  
"Stan!" she called out. "Please! Be quiet! Don't get him angry, he'll-!"

But with her next blink, Michael was gone.

"He'll what, Cass? What's he doing now?"  
"I…I d-don't know," Cassidy told him shakily, her lips trembling as she started to panic. "He's left…I don't know where he's gone…"

"Look, don't worry, Cass," Stan attempted to soothe her, obviously hearing the terrified waver in her tone. "Hey, maybe we scared him off. Maybe he's not coming ba-…what the?! Shit!"

Cassidy's eyes widened and she turned to the wall, pressing her ear to it. "What's the matter, Stan?! What's going on?!"

"The lights in my room have gone out. I can't see a thing, I…I…Oh God! _Ahh_! Ahhhh! Cassidy! He's here! _He's here!_ Ahhh!"  
His agonised screams sent bolts of icy terror through her and soon she was frantically pounding on the wall, tears spilling down her face.

"No! No! Michael! _Michael!_ Stop! Please listen to me! Stop it!" she shrieked, begging him. "Don't hurt him! Please! Stop! I'll do whatever you want!"  
Suddenly Stan's screams started to dull, his pain seemingly lessening.

"I'll do whatever you want," Cassidy repeated, afraid of her own promise but more afraid of what Michael would do to Stan if she refused to comply again. "I'll do whatever you want! Please leave him alone!" Her voice completely deteriorated to soft sobs. "I'll do whatever you want…"

Stan's room suddenly fell silent but after a few, frightened seconds, Cassidy was relieved to hear a few ragged breaths from her newfound friend.  
He was still alive.

"Stan, are you alright?!" she called out.  
She heard him grunt and murmur something but it was too faint for her to make out properly. Before she could pursue what he had said, she heard the door to her room suddenly slam shut and her entire body went rigid.

Cassidy whipped her head around, only to see Michael standing at the end of the bed, staring right at her with that same, macabre jester's smirk and the blindfold in his outstretched hand.  
She hated it with every fibre of her being but he had now bound her into a diabolical, unspoken contract.  
_Do what I want and I won't hurt the boy next door. _

"O…Ok…."  
Shivering uncontrollably, Cassidy got to her feet and walked shakily towards her captor. Reluctantly, each movement laced with terror of the unknown, she reached forward and pulled the blindfold from Michael's stone fingers.  
Swallowing against her dry throat, she tied the blindfold around her eyes, plunging herself into darkness.

There was a brief few moments when nothing happened and Cassidy was left standing and shivering at the foot of the bed.  
_"Wh-what are you going to do to me?"_  
Then suddenly she felt a cool palm press against her face and she let out an involuntary whimper. It was surreal to feel flesh where she expected to feel stone, but somehow his skin was still just as cold as solid stone would be. She felt his finger pressing against her lips to command her silence and hating her own vulnerability, she complied.  
Then his hands were on her bare shoulders. She could feel the bare sting of his claws and his coldness seemed to permeate her skin.  
He slowly ran his hands down her arms, cupping her elbows and rather forcefully pushing her arms down to her sides.

His hands travelled all over her body- wrapping around her neck, skimming her collar-bone, tracing her chest and back, glancing over her stomach and slowly travelling down both legs. Cassidy shivered all the while, her head becoming light and her palms starting to sweat.  
His movements were erratic and commanding and she flinched at even the lightest of his touches- but she couldn't feel any pain anymore.  
_What was he doing?  
_It sickened her to even consider it but his actions weren't particularly…_sexual_ either. It was as though he was checking her for something.  
Inspecting her.

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was trying to do, Michael's hands suddenly left her body. Cassidy moved to take off the blindfold but she was instantly stopped by two strong hands painfully grabbing her thin wrists.

"Ah!"  
He pushed her downwards, forcing her to crouch until her backside met the soft mattress of the bed. She felt the springs beside her sag downwards, indicating more weight and realised that he was sitting beside her on the bed.  
Then one of his hands was on her neck, forcing her to crane it.  
One of his palms came to rest against her cheek and remembering what had happened the day before, Cassidy swallowed, squeezing her eyes tight and preparing for the worst.

But no.  
His palm lightly grazed her cheek before slipping over her hair and then repeating the action again and again.  
He was _stroking _her?

Following a period of uninterrupted, content, seemingly-consented petting, Michael took her head in both hands and guided her head to rest against his chest before he resumed his stroking. His chest was unflawed and firm but just as cold as his hands were and eerily, Cassidy could not hear anything that resembled a heartbeat.

It made her physically sick to have him touch her in such a way but she had no choice. If she tried to run away or struggle, not only would he catch her with ease but he would return to tormenting Stan.  
She desperately tried to still her breathing.  
To allow her mind to leave that room.  
To imagine that she was somewhere else.

After just a few minutes, the stroking action felt almost…_calming?_

"No, this isn't right," she thought, frantically. "No. This thing touching you is a monster. Don't you remember what he's done to you? Don't forget what the doctor told you."

But being frightened and being wary suddenly seemed so _difficult_.  
Weary, lethargic, weak and emotionally drained, Cassidy soon found it much easier to just relax against him. To give in.  
To allow her limbs to fall limp and her heart to slow down to a steady, uncaring beat.  
To just surrender herself.

Her skin was tingling all over, in the wake of his touch.  
Michael kept her there for what felt like an hour.  
If she squirmed, shuddered or tried to move in any way, he would administer a hard slap to her shoulder so it wasn't long before she was as still as a doll in his arms.  
It was ironic, she thought, it was like she had become _his_ statue.

Occasionally, she would feel something soft brush against her bare arms and after a while, she came to realise that it was the feathers of his wings.  
He truly was no longer a statue when free from her gaze and despite the hatred of him that burned in the pit of her stomach, part of Cassidy still ached to know what he looked like when his skin was flesh and not stone.

At one point, he ceased his stroking, allowing one of his hands to become entangled with her unruly, pale blonde hair. His other hand grabbed one of her aching wrists, causing her to wince with pain and guided it to his face.

It took her a few moments to catch on to what he wanted her to do but soon, Cassidy found herself stroking his face as she had when he was a stone statue in the museum.  
It truly haunted and reviled her to remember how she had once fawned over him and it further repulsed her to realise just how well she knew every inch of his skin.

Her fingers ran down his face tentatively, obediently stroking the strong jawbone as the Angel's fingers continued to toy with her hair, pulling it and playing with it with crude curiosity.

Cassidy's eyebrows furrowed beneath the blindfold as she suddenly felt his hands leave her hair and face. The mattress beside her rose and squeaked again, signalling that he had left the bed.  
She kept still, unsure as to what he was doing.  
It was only when she heard the door of the room slam shut that she allowed herself to lift the blindfold.

He had gone.  
Before she had sufficient time to even reflect on what he had just subjected her to, her attention was drawn by what Michael had left at her feet.

There was a large basket, filled with a mixture of fruits and a few chunks of bread. It was only then and there that Cassidy realised how hungry she was.  
Anxiety had stolen her appetite for the past few hours but now, with food within her reach, her stomach was screaming to be filled.

She dropped to her knees and took an apple, breaking the papery skin with zeal and savouring each bite of the astringent, whitish flesh.  
Never in her life had she thought that she'd ever be so happy to eat an apple.

Cassidy also noticed a second object next to the basket.  
It was a small black box with a note resting atop its lid.

Warily, she took up the note and unfolded it. In the same typewriter print that had been used to create the name-plates, a message had been written:

_Cassidy Albright, _

_Thank you for your years. _

_You have pleased me. _

_-Michael _

"Thank you for your years," she repeated aloud, feeling nothing but contempt for the Angel and his patronizing behaviour once more. She gritted her teeth, crumpling the note in her fist and massaging her sore wrists before taking up the small, black box.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid to see what he had left her.

Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Sorry if this chapter is a little sub-standard. I wasn't sure whether or not I was completely happy with it but hopefully you guys will like it! (^_^') What do you folks make of Cassy and Mikey's current situation?  
Keep Calm. Stay Whovian. And don't blink! **


	10. X

**I forgot to mention in the last chapter that there were lyrics used from the song "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell- which I regretfully do not own. :-P  
Enjoy Chapter ten!  
**

* * *

"I…I can't accept it," Cassidy finally managed to say, sitting against the back wall of her room, the back of her head pressed firmly to the wall as she hugged her knees to her chest. "I can't accept it. I wouldn't accept it from a human man or woman and I'm certainly not going to accept it from that monster…"

"So what are you going to do?" Stan hissed. "Are you just going to hand it back to him? Leave it at the door and hope he gets the message?"  
He was whispering, as she was. The two had learned quickly from the night before. Something about the fact that Cassidy had been talking to Stan had thrown Michael into a violent rage and afraid that they were additionally being eavesdropped on, Cassidy had insisted that they both speak as quietly as possible.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said finally, resting her chin upon her knees. "I'm considering just ignoring the thing altogether and pretending I didn't find it or something…or flushing it down the goddamn loo…"  
In truth, she had already tried that but similar to the rose, she couldn't bring herself to drop it down.

Cassidy lifted the box from the floor and opened the lid once more, eyeing its sparkling contents for the thousandth time.  
The box's velvet lining cushioned what was possibly the most beautiful necklace that she had ever seen. The necklace was crafted in a choker-style- with latticed bands of ardent silver, seemingly woven into an intricate pattern that finished with a dainty chain and clasp at each end. It was ornamented with flawlessly cut precious stones, each one glittering and casting rainbow lights against the walls when it caught the light.  
"It's absolutely stunning," Cassidy breathed, shaking her head as she closed the box. "It must have cost a bomb, though I highly doubt that Michael "bought" it by any conventional means."

"Are they real diamonds?" Stan asked, coughing slightly. "Can you tell?"  
"I don't know. I wouldn't know, to be honest. Precious stones and gems aren't my speciality," she confessed.  
"Oh? What's your special area then?" he quizzed her, heaving another gritty breath and coughing once more.  
Cassidy gave a groan. "Artwork…pottery, paintings and statues…ironic, hm? Michael was supposed to be the crown jewel in my resume and the kick-start of my career in archaeology."  
Stan tried to reply but his words waned into a string of hard-lunged coughs.

Worry bubbled in Cassidy's stomach; Stan's breathing had become increasingly worse since he and Michael's "encounter" the night before.  
"Stan, are you _sure_ you're alright?"  
He laughed- something that would have comforted Cassidy a lot more had it not been underscored by a painful-sounding wheeze. "For the final time, girlie, I'm _fine_. Your gargoyle just scratched me up a little bit. Nothing to be too concerned about. I've been through worse."

But Cassidy could sense that he was lying, even if there was no way that she could prove his reassurance false.  
She swallowed, tracing the rim of the black box in her hands and gritting her teeth.  
"Why? Why would he even give me something like this? I think it's supposed to be some kind of twisted thank you present but _why_ would he even bother? He's done nothing but hurt me…"  
Her voice faltered in her own mouth with the sickening memory of the night before. He may have left bruises on her wrists but the memory of Michael's lulling, gentle touch against her skin as he stroked her body was the memory that plagued her dreams but had eventually soothed her to sleep.  
He hadn't _entirely_ hurt her.  
She had no idea what to make of his disturbing act of affection. All she knew was that some guilty part of her had admittedly _enjoyed_ his actions.

"Y'know," Stan pointed out, speaking casually with the possible intention to cheer Cassidy up. "I dunno about London but where I come from, when a man brings a lady to a hotel room and starts giving her expensive gifts: there's only one thing that's on his mind."  
Cassidy's stomach suddenly tightened. "That's _not_ what he wants. He's a monster. He treats me like a parasite," she choked out quickly. "Those Angels are keeping humans like farm animals. I doubt they even possess the ability to look at us in that kind of way."

"All I'm saying is that, monster or alien or whatever or not, your statue is _male_," he went on, giving another wheezy chortle. "Maybe he wants you to be your fancy man, Cass."  
"Stop it, Stan!" Cassidy said sharply though she immediately regretted her somewhat harsh tone. She knew that he was just trying to make light of her situation but then and there, he was not saying the kind of things that she wanted to hear.

Luckily, he was a quick learner and took the message instantly. "Ok, ok, girlie…I'm sorry. Hey, why don't you tell me that story about the fruit seeds? The one you started earlier? The Greek one?"  
Thankful for the abrupt subject-change, Cassidy took a deep breath. "Yes, Hades and Persephone…it's one of the most famous Greek myths and it was used to explain why and how the seasons changed. So, according to the myth, Hades- the god of the Underworld- fell in love with Persephone- the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest…"

And she told him the story.  
She went on to tell him a myriad of Greek myths and somewhere between Jason's golden fleece and King Minos' labyrinth, Cassidy realised that there were few things more comforting than having someone willing to just listen to you talk endlessly.  
Someone who didn't try to speak over you or interject or was impatiently waiting for their turn to talk. Someone who just listened to you.

Stan told Cassidy stories too.  
He told her funny little anecdotes about his life on his father's peach farm in North Carolina.  
These were far from the epics of Ancient Greece but they were just as entertaining.

They talked for another hour or two, until eventually Stan left to take a walk and to get some air. She was going to miss his company but at least she knew that his injuries from Michael hadn't rendered him unable to walk.  
As a credit to him, at least he had _tried_ to get her out of the room. Unfortunately, the handle of her door was bound with some kind of lock and chain- thus explaining why she couldn't even budge the handle.

Cassidy walked to the bathroom, taking up the plastic comb and absent-mindedly starting to run it through her hair.  
"Keep busy," she murmured. "Keep yourself busy and don't let yourself start thinking about home or mum or anything…"  
The more distraction, the better.  
She studied her reflection in the mirror as the teeth of the comb sifted through her scruffy yellow mop. She took up an elastic band and used it to tie her hair into a high ponytail before hesitantly taking up the black box again.  
She couldn't resist looking at the necklace again and it took frightening levels of self-control to prevent herself from trying the beautiful trinket on.

Cassidy was just in the midst of another mental tryst when she suddenly felt a cold draft of air rush over her. She was just about to consider this strange, seeing as the window was impossible to open, when she heard the sound of a fist rapping against hard wood.

And then a door slamming shut.

_Oh God. She did not need this right now. _

She turned, her heart pounding in her chest, only to see the Weeping Archangel standing in the doorway of the bathroom.  
As always, his eyes were locked on her much-smaller form, though Cassidy was doing everything she could to avoid looking directly into his slate-grey gaze. Instead, she allowed her eyes to skim over the stone angel's Herculean body. She shuddered, her face suddenly very hot and her body suddenly very cold.  
After a very thin, unblinking silence, Cassidy forced a heavy dose of courage down her own throat and spoke.

"What do you want?"

But upon shifting her gaze only slightly, she noticed another blindfold in his hand; his intentions were more than clear.

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "Not again. Not this time."  
She tried to make her voice sound as defiant and threatening as possible but it rolled out rather pleading.  
Tears flooded her dry, sore eyes and prompted her to blink.

Following that blink, Michael's forehead was now creased with annoyance and he was pointing out into the bedroom. After a few minutes of deciphering, Cassidy realised that he was pointing towards the basket of food that he had left for her.

She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Yes, thank you for that…" She dared herself to meet his eyes for a split second. "If you're threatening to starve me or something, it's not going to work. I don't care."

Cassidy quickly dropped her gaze to the floor but when she lifted her eyes again, Michael's face was completely overcast with anger. His finger was now pointing at the back-wall: just as he had last night, he was threatening her with Stan.

She opened her mouth to remind him that Stan was gone into the city and as such, he had no hold on her…but then she remembered that her friend wouldn't be gone forever.  
She knew that Michael was vindictive and vengeful enough to wait until Stan got back if needs be.  
He had waited for all that time in the museum, hadn't he?

Silently praying that she was just in for another session of petting, Cassidy took in a shaky, fearful breath. "A-Alright…fine…"  
She took the blindfold from his hand and with numb, clammy, trembling fingers, tied it around her head- willingly blacking out her own vision and thus, surrendering herself to him once more.

There was a single, splintered second in which she stood, untouched and in blackness, waiting for him. Searing fear burned in her stomach and coursed through her veins.  
Without warning, the Angel grabbed her by the forearm, causing the fear to climax in her chest. He hauled her forward, dragging her out into the main bedroom.  
Cassidy felt her feet leave the cool tiles of the bathroom and stumble over the skirting boards into the deep carpet of the bedroom.  
She felt Michael's hand come to rest on her head, running casually over the ponytail before his fingers harshly tore the flimsy elastic band. Her hair spilled down over her shaking shoulders and upper back.  
She cried out, feeling something cold and metallic press against the skin of her bare neck. The metal object was wrapped around her slender neck and secured at the nape, leaving a slight weight against her throat.

"_That's the necklace,"_ she thought, realising. _"He put the necklace on me." _

Keeping his hand tight around her upper arm, he pulled her close to him. Cassidy was surprised to feel the rim of a Styrofoam cup pressed against her lips.  
She reeled backwards.

"Mmmpf…what-?!"  
Her mouth was open for a fraction of s second and in that miniscule time-frame, Michael forced her head forward. A scaldingly hot, bitter liquid suddenly splashed against her lips, leaking into her mouth and burning her tongue and gums.  
She coughed and spluttered but the Lonely Assassin held her steady until all of the liquid had been swallowed. Cassidy panted, sucking welcome breaths of cool air into her freshly blistered mouth.  
When the after-taste hit her, she realised that he had just forced her to drink a cup of black coffee.

Before Cassidy could even contemplate the bizarreness of this action, another object was pressed against her lips. The texture and faint scent told Cassidy that it was a chunk of bread.  
Michael kept a firm hold on the back of her head and continued to push the bread against the young woman's mouth.  
Cassidy lifted a hand, fidgeting. "If you want me to eat it," she managed to say. "I'll eat it. Please just let me."  
But her hand was quickly and painfully swatted away; Michael was silently insistent upon feeding her himself.

Degrading as it was, Cassidy had no other choice but to eat the bread out of Michael's hand- letting him feed her like a baby or an animal. She swallowed back the last of the forced snack, choking slightly on the crumbs that now lined the back of her throat. His hand went from fisting her hair to condescendingly patting the back of her head as if to say "good girl."  
Fooling herself that the ordeal was over, Cassidy attempted to take the blindfold off.

Quick as a flash, Michael seized her hands and shoved them back down to her sides.  
Cassidy tried a second rebellion, sick of being pulled around like a ragdoll. Her wrists and forearms were aching, her lips her swollen from being burned and her stomach was sick with nerves.  
"No," she insisted, quietly. "No more. Leave me alone now."

Michael _growled_ in response, suddenly grabbing her ribcage and lifting her into his tenure as easily as a child's toy. Cassidy froze instantly, not even trying to struggle.  
She had never heard him growl before and it was the most feral, unearthly, un_natural_ sound that her ears had ever drunk in.

He carried her over to the bed and for the first time, she felt his broad chest and gargantuan biceps pressed flush against her much smaller, wiry body. Despite the coldness that engulfed her lower body, her face was suddenly all too warm.  
He lowered her to the mattress and she felt him settle himself next to her as he had the night before. She folded her hands in her lap as he started to toy with her hair again, her shoulders tense and her head slightly bent- mentally preparing herself for another session of stroking.  
But Michael sent a jolt of shock through her when he suddenly took a firm hold of her neck and shoved her backwards so that she was lying down upon the bed. She quivered as her back met the duvet with a soft thud, all too aware of her own vulnerability.  
He began by running his fingertips along her arms, legs, neck and collarbone before moving his hand to cup her face once more. He traced each of her features with a single finger, touching her nose, lips and eyelids, allowing the pad of his finger to lightly grace her soft skin.

She waited for the painful harshness of his claws with baited breath.  
_"He's just lulling me into a false sense of security,"_ she thought, tensing her shoulders and bracing herself. _"This monster is getting ready to hurt me. He's a beast. He's a sadist."_  
Each time that a whimper escaped her lips, Michael pressed a finger to them to silence her.  
If she tried to curl up, her knees bending or buckling as she writhed, the Angel swiftly brought his hands to her legs to insistently straighten them out again.  
Cassidy's anxiety started to reach an all-time high when Michael's fingers slowly started to creep along the hem of her tank top.

Her eyes shot open behind the blindfold, her head starting to twitch as she wriggled in protest.  
_"No. Oh God, please no. Anything but that." _

She lifted a hand to stop him but her wrist was swiftly pinned to the mattress by one of Michael's large, strong hands. The other continued to finger the hem of her tank top, almost teasingly tracing the bare strip of skin between her tank top and the belt of her shorts.  
It wasn't long before he was lifting the faded material and gently tugging it upward, seeking to expose more of her milky white skin.  
Cassidy shook her head frantically, now breathing heavily, her eyes squeezing tight behind the blindfold. She was just about to lift her second hand, set to slap him away- regardless of the consequences- however Michael only lifted the top enough to expose her stomach.  
A cool draft blew across the newly bare skin causing her to shiver and her near-hysterical quivering only became more violent when her captor ran a finger from the centre of her sternum, down over her navel and over the top of her abdomen.

Then he was stroking her tummy, running the full palm of his hand down her stomach.

She could feel her heartbeat getting dangerously fast and it was getting hard to breathe; if she wasn't able to sit up, it wouldn't be long before her lungs contracted and anxiety asphyxiation began.  
It was difficult but Cassidy managed to coerce herself into relaxing.

Michael continued stroking her stomach in an even rhythm, gradually coming to release her wrist and to place a hand over her forehead.  
Cassidy couldn't tell whether he was genuinely attempting to aid her in calming herself down or just trying to hold her head down, to prevent her from trying to sit up, but after ten straight minutes, it no longer mattered.

"_Just relax," _she thought to herself. _"Just try to leave the room. Try to pretend that he's not the one touching you. Try to pretend that you're somewhere else." _

She allowed her body to fall flaccid upon the bed, limp, lifeless and completely relaxed. She tried to visualise being somewhere else with somebody else but much to her own horror, she realised that a fantasy was no longer necessary.  
In fact, soon she was enjoying the sensations that came from his touch. After a while, his skin was not cold to her but pleasantly cool and she soon found that the less she struggled, the gentler with her he became.  
Cassidy allowed herself to be hypnotised by the steady pace of his touches, lying still beneath him. Her mind drifted back to her naive days at the museum when she would dream about Michael coming to life as she tirelessly washed, polished and repaired his stone body.  
She told herself to forget that he was a violent, vicious alien from another world who had abducted her. Instead, Cassidy tried to pretend that she was back in the preparation room and that Michael had only just come to life- but as a real human man and not a monster.  
And now he was gently stroking her.

She flinched a little, feeling soft tendrils brush against the side of her arm. She automatically lifted a hand to brush the rather ticklish sensation away and realised that she was touching a feather.  
"_His wings_," she thought numbly. _"This is what they really feel like."  
_Without thinking, she ran her fingers up against the feathers, feeling the plumage- the gossamer feathers of the fringes of the wing to the stiffer feathers that formed the central lining.  
Cassidy's better sense returned with the sudden and sharp realisation of what she was doing.  
However, Michael hadn't tried to brush her hand away from the edges of his wings. In fact, he just continued to stroke her stomach, occasionally returning to touch the still-evident claw marks on her face.  
The dreamy numbness returned and Cassidy's inhibitions had started to deteriorate. Being forced to lie down for so long, in a warm room, on a soft bed while being petted like a Persian kitten had the inevitable effect of making her extremely sleepy and light headed.  
Soon, she had settled into a comforting tempo, gliding her hand through his feathers.  
A faint, content smile slowly crept on to her face.

Suddenly the once-soft feathers beneath her fingers turned to cold metamorphic rock, his fingers on her stomach transforming to chilling stone.  
Brought back to reality with a shock, Cassidy froze.  
Why had he turned to stone? The blindfold was still in place: there was no way that she could see him.

Unless it wasn't _her_ gaze that had triggered the natural defence of the Weeping Angels.

Cassidy blinked, sitting up slightly under the petrified Archangel.  
"H-Hello…is there someone else in here?"

Her question was met with nothing but a thin silence.  
Without warning, Michael suddenly came back to life, his hand wrapping around her throat and forcing her back down to the bed.

She let out a sharp cry that was instantly quietened by Michael's vice-like grip on her windpipe. She struggled, tearing at his hand but to little avail and wincing at the feeling of his claws pressing into the bare skin of her neck.  
Cassidy tried desperately to breathe, her lungs starting to burn and her chest starting to hurt.  
What had happened?  
What had she done wrong?

Suddenly the grip on her neck was replaced by something cold and wet slowly running up her throat, over the glittering necklace and right up to her chin. It was only when Michael gave another throaty growl that Cassidy realised just what she was feeling.  
He was _licking_ her.  
Before she had a chance to react to this, his teeth suddenly sunk into her shoulder, breaking into the flesh with a hot, piercing pain.

Cassidy screamed, tears immediately springing to her eyes as her hand shot up to cushion the wound.  
Her actions were met with no punishment and after a few moments, she dared herself to lift the blindfold.  
He had left her alone once more.

Fighting the sobs that racked her body, Cassidy scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. Her shoulder was in agony. She couldn't feel any blood seeping from the wounds but she wasn't prepared to take any chances.  
Michael was an _alien_.  
The doctor hadn't mentioned anything about the bite of the Weeping Angels but Cassidy was filled with paranoia all the same.

However, when she looked into the bathroom mirror, it wasn't the grotesque purple and red, puckering bite on her shoulder that Cassidy's eyes were drawn to.  
Instead, she found herself staring at the jewels that adorned her neck.

The necklace really did look beautiful.

* * *

He loved watching his little pet- vulnerable and utterly helpless- as she melted beneath his fingertips.  
He found particular joy in the fact that she was trying so very hard not to enjoy his touch on her body but failing miserably. She had tried to resist him before, but right now she was completely at his mercy

Her collar looked very pretty on her too, he noted.  
The male Angel had observed the human tradition of marking their pets using ornamented neck-bands. It truly was far too good a custom for him not to take advantage of.

He was deeply engaged in the highly addictive act of prodding his human's skin, enjoying the feeling of her soft, malleable skin and relishing in her quiet obedience- when suddenly he noticed that her fingers had brushed against his right wing.  
He paused for a moment before lowering the wing a little, allowing her further access to his plumage. She seemed childishly enchanted with his feathers- just like a cherub would be.  
The Archangel hesitated when she began to stroke him: the touching of wings was taboo in the community of the Weeping Angels. _She _wasn't even an Angel. She was a low, filthy little human who didn't even deserve the honour of his presence- let alone the evident pleasure that he lavished on her body.  
Alas, he enjoyed the feeling of her hand running against his wings. It had been a long time since another organism had touched  
Something contorted within him at the thought of her guilty pleasure becoming his own but he ignored it, concentrating instead on twirling a finger around the strange abscess in the centre of her stomach.

His human was so unlike the females of his kind.  
So delicate, dainty and the scent of the earth fruits that she had eaten still clung to her hair and skin.  
_"You're pathetic," _he whispered to her in his silent mother-tongue. "_But you are so very fun to watch and I am quite taken with this body of yours. I have never quite had the chance to be so close to a human before and I must say, you're kind are not quite as repulsive as everyone makes them out to be. Or perhaps it's just you…"  
_

All of a sudden, Michael felt his quantum-lock take effect, his body turning to stone.  
For a split second, he queried whether his pet's blindfold had slipped but then he sensed the presence of another Angel in the room with them.  
The effects wore off quickly and Michael immediately whipped his head around to confront the unwelcome intruder.  
The trespasser had already left the room and stormed back into the hallway; he could already hear her growling.

Michael snarled under his breath and turned back to his human, realising for the first time she had started to sit up. She was saying something but the Angel above her was deaf to all but his indignant rage.  
He wrapped his fingers around her slender little neck and shoved her backwards to the mattress once more.  
_"I did not give you my permission to rise yet!" _

He watched her writhe and squeal beneath his grasp, drinking in her delicious fear while fighting the temptation to crush her tiny windpipe in his fingers.  
He released her, allowing her to breathe before the final suffocation. Before leaving, he could not resist leaning down to run his tongue over her pale white throat.  
She tasted _phenomenal_.  
Her skin was warm and both sweet and salty at the same time. He satiated his sudden cravings by sinking his teeth into her shoulder- marking her as his possession before leaving the room to follow the intruding Angel.

She was waiting for him in the corridor.  
Her hands were already neatly folded over her eyes so Michael saw no need to show any courtesy by doing the same.

"What do _you_ want, Angel Kyrie?!" he demanded to know, teeth already bared.

The female Angel regarded him with a cool, haughty tone. "What were you _doing _to that human, Wanderer?"

"That human," he growled, flexing his wings. "Is my property. I can do whatever I please to her _without _challenge."

"_Her!?" _Kyrie gave a mocking laugh, unable to move due to Michael's gaze but maintaining her antagonising tone. "You actually talk about that creature with respect to its gender. I almost find that less repulsive than the fact that you fawn over it."

"Pettish as ever, Kyrie," Michael responded sourly. "Small wonder that Angel Ariel has yet to promote you to her inner-circle."  
"Our Mother Superior, Angel Ariel," Kyrie retorted. "Would be horrified if she knew that you were actually allowing that _thing_ to touch your wings?"

Michael deliberately looked away, both in contemplation of his own actions and because he wanted Kyrie to move.  
He _wanted_ her to come closer and he _wanted_ her to try to attack him.  
Just so that he could justify embedding his claws in her skin.

"Why do you not just _kill _her, Wanderer?" Kyrie went on, predictably moving closer to Michael. "You've already taken her years. What makes this human so special? Why not just move on from her?"  
Michael only growled, allowing the smaller, female Angel to patronise him and luring her into his compass of his snare.

"You are truly _obsessed_ with this human, are you not, Wanderer?" she continued, coming to stand directly in front of him. "It's sick. It's unnatural. It's disappointing to think that the great, mythological males of our race could be so soft-minded and foolish…" She pretended to give a sudden gasp of realisation. "And do you know what I think, Wanderer?"

Slowly, Michael lifted an arm to cover his eyes, turning his head in the direction of her voice.  
_"Enlighten me." _

"The way you touch that human is disgustingly _intimate_," she sneered. "You look at it in a way in which you do not look upon any females in this clan. You look at it _desiringly_. Is that it, Wanderer? Are none of the females here good enough for you? Am _I _not good enough for you?" He felt her lean in closer to him. "Do you want that filthy human as your lover? Do you want it as your _mate_?"

Michael's right hand suddenly shot out, grabbing Kyrie around the head so that she could not open her eyes to activate his quantum lock. His left hand grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her up against the wall, squeezing down and pressing her into the peeling wallpaper.  
His voice was frighteningly calm and even in tone.

"I want to point out two things, Kyrie," he said smoothly, his claws digging harshly into the throat of the screeching Angel. Kyrie ran her claws down his bare chest in protest, causing him slight discomfort and pain but he refused to show it. He showed her no mercy.  
She deserved no mercy.  
Her hard, firm, cold and grainy skin felt nothing like the soft skin of his human's.  
"Number _one_," he hissed, ignoring her screams and cursing. "If you breathe a word to Angel Ariel about what you have seen, the only seraph who will be receiving any kind of punishment will be _you, _seeing as you will have breached the only term of my contract with your leader…my human and my affairs with that human were to be left ignored…you have violated that agreement and Ariel will _not_ be happy to hear that…" Michael smirked slightly, folding his wings behind his back. "And number _two…_"

As easily as though she were a marionette puppet, Michael flung Kyrie to the ground, lifting a foot and stamping down on her back. Pinned face-down, the female Angel could only growl threats at him.  
Threats that were promptly ignored.  
Her earlier accusations and berating had filled him with venom enough to fuel a high amount of sadism.

"Number two, Kyrie…perhaps the reason that I do not look at the females here with this kind of "desire" that you have foolishly imagined," he told her, his voice slowly escalating to a terrifying roar. "Is because I have formed _standards_ that your clan simply do not meet. Particularly the strain of nosy, ignorant, petulant, tiresome fledglings like _you_!" He pressed down harder with his foot, slashing at her wings with his claws. "If I see or hear that you have come near to Cassidy's room again, I will make you _suffer_, Kyrie…believe that."

Michael released her, leaving her gasping and twitching on the ground as he began to walk away. He paused only for a second, to look at her over his shoulder.  
_"And do not challenge me again."_

It was only when Michael had rounded the corner at the end of the hallway that he felt the full pain of the gashes across his chest.  
His wounds were not bleeding: Weeping Angels did not bleed- but he had completely underestimated how deeply that irritating little Angel had sliced him.  
He ran his fingers over the stinging trenches in his pectorals. These trenches would become dangerously unstable cracks if he were to turn to stone any time soon.  
The Lonely Assassins were a highly developed species and had a fairly fast self-healing rate, provided that they were well-nourished. However, Michael noted with disdain, the wounds that crossed his chest would slow him down significantly for the next while.

He needed someone to repair his wounds.

Thankfully, he realised with a wide smirk, he had someone at hand who was more than capable of nursing him back to full health in a matter of hours.

* * *

Cassidy had only just barely gotten over Michael's earlier assault.  
She had stuffed the blindfold down into the skirting boards, behind one of the polished bed-side tables. Looking at it had brought a sick, uneasy feeling to her stomach.  
Needless to say, she had also removed the necklace and shoved it into a drawer.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

She had just started to settle down, massaging her shoulder and eating some of the fruit that was left in the basket, when Michael was in her room again.

She reeled backwards where she sat, dropping the half-eaten pear and suddenly jumping to her feet.  
"What do you w-want?! I…I'm not putting on another blindfold again! Leave me alone!"

She stared at him for a moment, wary and shuddering. Even after she blinked, he did not move. Cassidy took a deep breath, trying to prevent herself from shivering any further.  
She was _not_ going to show fear this time even if he was insistent on toying with her.  
"What do you want this time?"

She took a step towards him but blinked when the glaring sunlight from the window outside struck her eyes.  
Cassidy's heart rate picked up as Michael suddenly grabbed her by the wrist.  
She forced herself to look upwards though in order to avoid his eyes, she only allowed her gaze to travel as far as his lightly parted lips.  
"What do you _want _from me?" she asked him through gritted teeth.  
It took her a minute or so to notice that his free hand was pointing towards the huge cracks in his chest. The rifts were deep in the grey stone and crumbling slightly at the fringes.

"You're…you've been attacked?" she blinked, slowly studying the fissures before looking up at him. "You're hurt?"  
Cassidy shook her head. "That's not my fault…you…you got yourself hurt somehow…what do you want me to-?"  
Her eyes widened with realisation and she raised an eyebrow. "You want me to repair you? Is that it?" She gave a bark of cynical laughter, trying to tug her wrist from his iron-grip. "You regularly do nothing but damage to _me_." Cassidy gestured to the bruise on her neck. She was still scared of him but the stinging in her cheek, the aching in her wrist and the pain she felt whenever she turned her head prompted her to shout at him. "And you expect me to care for you? Ha! Why should I? Are you going to threaten me with Stan? Are you going to threaten to starve me again?"

At her next blink, she suddenly felt a dangerously painful pressure on her wrist.  
Michael was tightening his grip, threatening to break her bones.  
She winced but obstinately refused to blink again, trying to tear her hand away from him but only hurting herself more in the process.  
"A-Ah!"

It was no use. There were only two ways that she could escape his grip:  
Either by complying with Michael's wishes and hoping that he wouldn't break her wrist or by breaking it herself anyway.  
She sighed, her eyes slowly travelling to the three deep cracks in the Angel's chest.

She didn't want to admit it outright but it absolutely _killed _her to think that someone or something had done that to him. Cassidy had spent gruelling hours, long days and tumultuous weeks restoring Michael's body to its former glory and the idea that her work had been so horribly vandalised made her skin crawl.  
Somewhere inside of her, there was a still a soft-hearted girl clinging to the memories that she had of Michael when she had first found him. It made her sick to acknowledge it but part of her still wanted Michael to be as strong as possible.  
After all, he had been _her_ flawless statue. _Her_ responsibility.

Cassidy gritted her teeth further, chewing the inner parts of her cheek and finally giving up on physical protest.  
"Listen to me," she told him. "I can't repair you right here and right now…I need my tools from the museum…I need resin…I need plaster…I need my kit…"

In the middle of her explanations, her gaze had dropped to the floor and free from the quantum-lock, Michael dropped her wrist.  
When she looked at him again, he was simply looking at her, his hands at his sides with one eyebrow raised.

Still frightened as she was, Cassidy couldn't help but think that in any other situation, the expression would look rather comical on the face of such an imposing creature.  
She supposed that he was confused as to what she meant and she exhaled.

"Do you remember when we were at the museum? I used a kind of powder and a kind of white, sticky cement to repair the cracks in…in you. I also used a little leather wallet to fix the cracks and to examine them. Remember? You…you picked up my fan brush…that was one of the tools…" Cassidy paused for a moment, looking up at Michael, meeting his eyes briefly as she clasped her hands behind her back. "If…if you take me back to the museum…I can get them…and then I can repair you…"

For a brief second, Cassidy thought that she had finally managed to convince Michael to take her home but her thoughts of success were short lived for right before her eyes, the Atlasian stone Angel disappeared before her very eyes.  
"What the-?"

He had presumably transported himself to the museum somehow.  
The doctor hadn't mentioned that Angels could teleport at will.

"Though that presumably explains how they go forwards and backwards in time," Cassidy thought, rubbing the inner part of her wrist as she sat down on the bed. "Is that how he transported me here? It must be…"

She took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising headache- the erratic throbbing in her temples that was slowly building. This was all too much for her.  
Cassidy crawled across the bed, pressing her forehead to the headboard and starting to murmur facts and figures.  
Names.  
Dates.  
Locations.  
Time Periods.  
She used to do it all the time to soothe her migraines when she was in college, studying archaeology.  
Historical facts had solidarity, clarity and sense behind them.  
Something that her life currently lacked.

She was relieved to hear knuckles rap against the wall in front of her: Stan was back home safe and sound.

"Hey Cass," she heard him chuckle, sounding brighter albeit still slightly wheezy. "Didn't your daddy tell you that it's rude for a lady to mutter to herself?"  
She smiled faintly, running her hand along the polished trim of the headboard. "My dad didn't really talk to me very much…" Desiring to get off the topic, she immediately asked. "How was your walk? Where did you go this time?"

They talked until the sun set and Cassidy was somewhat relieved to close the curtains of the room and to slip her aching limbs into the cool sheets of the bed.  
Michael hadn't returned yet but she somewhat cynically pushed this to the back of her mind.  
"_He_ can wake me up if he wants me to repair him so badly," she thought. "And I doubt he'll hesitate to wake me either."

However when Cassidy was safely between her sheets, in the depths of slumber, it wasn't Michael who woke her but rather a knocking at her door.  
Her eyes shot open and she groggily sat up. She yawned and finger-combed her hair out of her face, wondering who on earth was outside her door.  
The knock was far too light and even to be Michael and even then, she suspected at this stage he'd be just as happy to slip into her room unannounced regardless of whether or not he was preluded with fanfare.

So who was knocking?

Cassidy sat up slowly, pulling back the covers and cautiously moving towards the door.  
Her shoulders started to shake as a tightness started to grow in her chest.  
If the person was knocking, it meant that they couldn't get into the room on their own. Was it another human resident in the building? Or maybe the doctor?

Relief washed over her when she heard a gentle, female voice with the cheerful assonance of an American accent.  
"H-Hello? Is anyone there? Are you awake?"

Cassidy cleared her throat, calling out as she approached the door. "Yes. Hello. Who is that?"

"This is Emily," the woman's voice replied. "Are you Cassidy?"  
"I am," Cassidy confirmed, pressing her ear to the door. "Why do you want to know?"  
The woman suddenly sounded rather nervous. "C-Could you please o-open the door? I…I think the other Angels might b-be coming to patrol this c-corridor soon…"  
Cassidy shook her head. "I…I can't open the door. I'm sorry. It's been chained shut from the outside. Can't you see that?"  
"Just a moment," Emily bade her, a strange swishing and clicking sound indicating that she was tampering with the lock "Alright…try to open it now. P-Please hurry! This is v-v-very important!"

The idea that another young woman who was just as frightened as she was, was right outside the door and begging to come in suddenly negated any suspicions or common sense that Cassidy had.  
She grabbed the door handle and was surprised when the door opened without any effort on her part at all.

But as soon as she opened the door, she instantly wished she hadn't.

Instead of the timid woman she was expecting to see, one of the Weeping Angels stood on the other side of the door.  
Up close, the females were just as frightening and intimidating as Michael. This one was about Cassidy's height but her raised wings made her look much more imposing.  
A far cry from the usual, emotionless mask that most of the females wore, this one's lips were curved into a faint, eerie smile.  
Her hands were also folded in front of her, feigning a kind of politeness.

Cassidy flinched in shock, about to instantly close the door again but shock caused her to blink and in that split second, the Angel had stepped into the doorway to prevent her from doing so.  
"I'm sorry, Cassidy," the Angel simpered. "I am so sorry to wake you."  
The real young woman's eyes widened in both astonishment and disbelief. She didn't know that the Weeping Angels possessed the ability to speak.  
The Angel's lips were closed and unmoving yet at the same time, there seemed to be a voice coming from her stone skin.

"You…you can speak…," Cassidy observed slowly, keeping her eyes wide open and locked on the Angel. Why had Michael never spoken to her before?

A frighteningly hollow laugh echoed from the stone Angel.  
"Of course we can speak, silly human," she purred condescendingly. "We usually speak in a language that is too finely articulated for your underdeveloped ears to take in but if we wish, we can rip out the brain stem of a human being and re-animate their consciousness in order to use his or her voice."

Cassidy blinked, feeling her shoulders starting to shake again as her stomach started to feel horribly sick.  
"You can only talk b-because you…tore out s-someone's brain stem?"

"Yes," the Angel replied. "She was only a little older than you but her life was just as expendable." She gave a rather cruel laugh. " My true name is Kyrie but the human's name was Emily. So I suppose I can assume that identity now, can't I? I really wanted to talk to you, Cassidy."

Cassidy swallowed, shaking her head. "What…what do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to remind you that the male Angel's strange interest in you does not make you superior to any other human in this building," Angel Emily stated factually. "His infatuation with you will soon decay and when it does, you will be little more than a feeding entity once more." She gave another laugh. "I just hope that he gives me the joy of disposing of you."

"What?"

"You see, he and I had a…confrontation of sorts earlier. It ended with both of us being wounded but as sure as these wounds will heal, he will come to his senses and realise that you are nothing unique soon enough."

Cassidy's brows furrowed as she tried to comprehend what the seraph had just told her. "Why…? Infatuation…? I…don't think I'm any better than any other person h-here…why would I?" Her fingers curled into her palms as she continued to retort the accusation. "He doesn't exactly treat me very well…" She swallowed, ignoring sudden thoughts of the roses, the food or the necklace. "There's no need to be jealous…"

Suddenly the hall light above Cassidy's head flickered, briefly plunging them both into blackness.  
In that single moment of darkness, Angel Emily's hand shot forward and grabbed the front of Cassidy's tank top, dragging her close so that the two of them were practically nose to nose.  
Cassidy desperately tried to avoid the Angel's eyes but every time she looked away, the stone creature took the opportunity to pull her closer.  
One of her lithe but powerful grey arms was lifted, clawed fingers hovering over Cassidy's bare forearm.

"_Jealous?!"_ Angel Emily cackled. "How dare you even insinuate that one of my noble race could ever feel jealous of a mere human? The nerve!" Her voice had quickly descended from soft and timid to cruel and screeching. "You are not a special being, you stupid little ape. You are nothing but replaceable!"  
"I…I never wanted to be a-anything but th-that!" Cassidy stammered. "I-I never said that I w-was special in any way!"

"Pathetic human," Angel Emily sneered coldly. "I do not see why he takes such interest in you. I could destroy you right now if I wanted to. I could send you back in time where he would never find you. I could snap every bone in your weak little body…" She sniggered. "Or I could just scratch you right now…I could mark you and ruin you and make you so undesirable that he'd never want to set eyes on you again…"

Cassidy could feel tears in her eyes, both from sheer terror and her aching desire to blink.  
She sniffed, her voice rolling out in a shaky whisper when she tried to speak. "So…why haven't you done any of that already?"

"Because unlike you pathetic humans," Angel Emily whispered, mimicking Cassidy's scared stutter. "I am a being with infinite patience. Mark my words. I will make good of my threats. I am just waiting for the right time."  
Tears flooded her eyes and Cassidy was forced to blink.  
Angel Emily's stone skin returned to its state of flesh and she shoved the human girl backwards with a cruel laugh. "Sleep well now."

The door slammed shut, leaving Cassidy lying on the carpet in darkness, tears of fear and confusion slowly rolling down her face.  
She had no idea why this Angel had suddenly taken out a vendetta against her.  
All she knew was that at that moment in time, there was an undeniable longing inside of her.  
She wanted to be held.  
She wanted to be comforted.

She wanted to be protected.

* * *

Leon Drake looked down at his younger sister as the two of them scaled the front steps of the Museum.  
"Come on, Abbie," the tour guide said, trying to encourage her to smile once again. "I used to have to tell you to not to run into the museum lobby and these days, I'm having to drag you up the steps." He arched his brow, concerned as he looked down at the glum little red-head. "What's the matter? You've been so gloomy lately…"

Abigail Drake stared down at her shiny new black Clarke's shoes, fidgeting with the hem of her favourite My Little Pony rain-coat. She chose to ignore her brother's question and instead, as they walked through the front doors of the museum, she asked rather quietly: "Has anybody found the angel statue yet? Y'know…Michael?"

Leon shook his head. "No Abbie. They think some bad people might have taken him away. But don't worry. The police are trying very, very hard to find him…"

"What about Cassy?" Abbie questioned her brother, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes. "Where is Cassy? I hear-ed you tell the boss man that she hasn't been in work for two days. Is she sick?"

Leon frowned uncomfortably, swallowing and taking a long pause before finally saying. "Maybe, Abbie. I don't know…It's not really my place to know…"  
"But I thoughted that you liked Cassy," the little girl insisted.

Her older brother said nothing in response to this, simply releasing her little hand as they reached the main desk. He leaned down to kiss her fluffy little head before giving her a nudge in the direction of the main corridor.

"Go and put your coat and bag in the preparation room. I have to go and talk to Curator Stanford and some policemen and women, alright?"

Abbie did as she was told but felt butterflies in her stomach all the same.  
She knew her brother was just as sad as she was and she knew that deep down, he really wanted Cassy to come back to the Museum too.  
Even if he didn't say it out loud.  
Why were adults always so complicated?

The little girl was just pondering this as she turned the familiar corner to the preparation room.  
Her little eyes widened and her mouth fell open, her Pinkie Pie backpack falling from her arms and landing with a thud on the floor.

Standing right outside the preparation room, his hand on the doorknob and his huge stone wings fanning out behind him, was Michael.

Abbie gasped. "It's you! You came back!"  
The little girl blinked in surprise, rubbing her eyes to make doubly sure that she wasn't dreaming- however when she opened her eyes again, Michael was standing almost right in front of her, both of his hands and his sides, staring down at the child menacingly.

Abbie screamed. "Leon! Leon! Leon! Leon! Come quickly! Michael is back!"

She turned her head, watching her brother as he hurried down the corridor, sighing.

"Abbie, what is it? What's wrong n-?"  
Leon's froze on the spot, seeing the huge stone angel. "Bloody Hell…"

When Abbie turned back to the statue, she noticed that he had assumed the pose that he always had at the museum, one arm draped over his eyes as if he was crying.  
Abbie tugged on her brother's pants leg. "Leon! Leon! He moved again! Didn't you see it! He moved!"

But Leon was no longer listening.  
He was shouting for Curator Stanford, who came running with Omar, two policemen and several other members of museum staff.

Abbie was ushered out of the crowd of people quickly gathering around the statue.  
The little girl quivered as she looked up at the stone angel, wondering if her dear friend Cassy knew his secrets too.

* * *

**As always, I hope you guys enjoyed!**

**:)**


	11. XI

**Thanks so much for the lovely reviews guys! Thanks for the follows and favourites too! **

* * *

Rumours had been spreading like flames among tinder since the angel statue's strange disappearance- both within and outside of the museum.  
The museum's staff, in particular, had done nothing but gawk and gossip following the stone seraph's arrival. Murmurs of the statue being cursed were soon in full circulation. Security guards had been uncomfortable when standing near it. Janitorial staff had been too afraid to clean around it. Even the usually level-headed tour guides didn't like letting their groups linger in the room where it was on display.  
People everywhere were claiming that the statue could move and walked around at night when there was no one in the museum.

Of course, this was nothing new.  
The museum's front-of-house and behind-the-scenes work force were notorious for cooking up bizarre rumours about different artefacts. In fact, the museum boasted an array of "haunted" tapestries, "bewitched" stone talismans and a multitude of "living" statues.  
The angel had just been the latest in a string of ghost stories used to brew some excitement for the lives of the workers and it too, was doomed to fade into banality just as the others had.

However, then events had taken a dark turn.  
It had all begun with the security cameras glitching and turning off at random times. Then the museum had started getting notifications from the police about members of the public who were last seen in the museum before they were reported missing by worried friends and family.  
It wasn't long before members of staff were missing too. First, Ernst Hewitt, then Sybil Darrow…  
Then Louisa Fitzhugh, the receptionist, had collapsed one night, only to be pronounced dead just two hours later. It had been a tragedy that the whole museum had suffered from and that was only kept out of the media, mainly due to Louisa's parents not wanting to deal with any more hardship that what they were forced to endure although partly due to Curator Stanford not wanting to draw any further negative attention to the museum.  
Following a long mourning period, for a while, things had almost returned back to complete normality.

Then the security cameras stopped working entirely.  
Then the angel statue was stolen from the museum.

And now, Cassidy Albright- the archaeologist who had actually first found the angel statue- wasn't turning up for work.  
Rumour had it that she was missing too.

A favourite theory often heard being whispered around the staff-room was that Cassidy had become so obsessed with the statue that after being suspended from her work at the museum, she had stolen the statue for herself and bolted.

"Rubbish," a custodian argued, pouring himself some coffee. "Albright may have been an aloof girl but there's no way she'd actually go insane enough to _steal_ it."

"I don't know," an intern pointed out, resting her feet on a vacant chair near her seat. "I heard she was pretty fixated on that statue. Like she used to talk to it and stuff…weird…"

"Also," one of her fellow interns decided to comment. "I heard she tried to make a move on Leon on the night of the opening of the angel exhibit. Apparently he turned her down flat on her face. If that isn't enough to drive an already unhinged girl to doing something crazy, I don't know what is…"

"Ok, maybe," another sceptic began, putting down her magazine. "But how the Hell would she have pulled it off? I mean that statue is huge and someone would have seen her."

"That's just it, isn't it?" a security guard joined in, dropping his voice slightly. "The security cameras were all off and Albright hung around enough nights to know when we were all on our breaks…" He looked around before continuing whispering to the interested party. "Stanford and the police think that it was an inside job. Something to make money on the art black market. They think that Hewitt, Darrow and Albright were in it together. Darrow rigged the cameras to start glitching and eventually disabled them completely and Hewitt arranged to have help sent to Albright to help her lift the statue from the museum." He took a gulp from his mug. "But Louisa must have found out about the plan so the three of them had her killed somehow. It makes perfect sense if you think about it. That's why Albright was so obsessed with the statue: she was preparing it to be sold and trying to figure out the easiest way to remove it from the museum. Measuring it and weighing it and stuff…"

After a thin, shocked silence, the custodian finally said. "Well, it would explain why the three of them are missing along with the statue…"

"But it does nothing to explain why the statue is back in the preparation room again, does it?" Leon said loudly and bluntly, striding past the huddled group as he came in to collect his bag.

"It's back? Seriously?"  
"What the fuck?"  
"Well…there go all of your theories, Richard. Better stop watching Criminal Minds so often."  
"…this is just getting weirder and weirder."

Just before he left, one of the interns stood up to tap Leon's shoulder.  
"Hey Leon. Have they managed to contact Cassidy yet?"  
Leon sighed, not turning to look at the intern and lowering his gaze. "No. They haven't."

And without another word, he left the staff-room.

Meanwhile in the museum curator's office, Omar Ramokadi, the two other security guards who were there on the night that Louisa died, two police officers and Curator Stanford himself, were deep in debate following the statue's recent return.

Stanford's hairless brow was creased, huge worry lines starting to pucker and roll across his wide pink forehead. "Well, this certainly destroys any former leads regarding Albright's involvement in the statue's disappearance."

"Not necessarily, Mr Stanford," Inspector Parson said, standing up. "We can't rule out her involvement just yet. At the moment, she's the only central figure to all the unusual events that have been occurring in the museum. Locating her is what's paramount to the investigation at the moment."

"Oh for God's sake!" Omar suddenly exclaimed. "Why the Hell would Cassidy do something like this? Do you all really believe that someone her is capable of this? You need to start treating the fact that we can't reach her as a potential disappearance- just like the others- not as a potential getaway! And besides, if she took the statue in the first place, why would she bother to bring it back?"  
Stanford cocked an eyebrow. "Mr Ramokadi. Please lower your voice."

Inspector Parson turned to face him, speaking calmly and diplomatically. "Look, lad. We understand your concerns but there are a lot of factors to consider here. There are plenty of reasons why she could have brought of back. Her contacts on the outside could have abandoned her, she could have panicked and wanted to avoid drawing attention to herself, she could have obsessive compulsive issues regarding work and realised that she couldn't return to the museum if she was under suspicion..." The man shrugged. "There are plenty of reasons for this kind of behaviour. Now, we're going to find Cassidy regardless but we do have to treat her case as an absent potential suspect…" He looked uncomfortable for a moment before saying. "Her behaviour with the statue before its disappearance was reported to be quite _abnormal_."

"Oh that is _such_ bullshit!" Omar insisted. "Can you all even do your bloody jobs right? Aren't you supposed to be psychologically "profiling" her or whatever? Well, tell me this. If Cass was so obsessed with the statue, why would she let it be that damaged? If you all haven't noticed because you've been too fucking busy writing scripts for CSI: Miami, the statue has three huge cracks in its chest. Cass, wouldn't have let the statue come to _that_ much harm…"

"Mr Ramokadi!" Stanford said suddenly. "If you cannot speak either rationally or with respect, please leave my office at once!"  
Omar glowered at the Curator for a moment before standing and pulling the door open. "With pleasure."

He was sick of listening to their tripe anyway.

"As if Stanford even gives a toss about what really happened," Omar thought, frowning as he walked through the lobby once more. "He just wants to close up this case before it gives the museum any more bad press…"

He was just about to head back to the staff-room when he noticed Leon's little sister standing outside the door of the preparation room.  
She was standing on tiptoe, desperately trying to look into the miniature glass window in the panel of the door. The little girl sighed and whimpered after failing in her latest attempt, putting her hands on her head in frustration.

"Hey Abbie," Omar greeted her, walking over. "What's the matter? Where's Leon at?"  
The little girl looked up at him, smiling a little. "Hiya Omar. Leon is gone to call Eddie. He said to wait in the staff-room."  
Omar raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's not the staff-room, kiddo. C'mon. I'll take you there. We can get a juice-box from the vending machine on the way there…"

Abbie shook her head. "No. I _know_ that this door isn't the door to the staff room. It's just that the Angel is in there and I need to talk to him." That said, the little girl resumed her attempts to look in the window.  
Omar blinked, confused for a moment. "You…want to talk to the angel statue? Abbie, the angel statue can't ta-…" He paused, remembering that he was talking to child. Kids gave life to the lifeless all the time- he was used to that from his nieces and nephews. He bit his lip, suddenly very unwilling to shatter the little girl's imagined reality. "Ok, alright. Why do you want to talk to the angel statue?"

"I have to ask him something."  
"Like what, Abbie?"  
"I have to ask him where he was."  
"What do you mean, where he was? Like where he was when he was missing?"  
"Yep. He's going to tell me."

Omar tilted his head with interest. "What makes you think that, Abbie?"  
"He talked to me before."  
"…he talked to you…before? When?"  
"In my sleep," Abbie said, completely unaware of the strangeness of her words. "He talked to me in my dreams."  
The security guard chuckled, shaking his head; he had almost forgot what wide, vivid imaginations that children could have. "Oh really? What did you and the Angel talk about?"

"Cassy."

"Cassy?" Omar's smile dropped. "_Cassidy_? Cassidy Albright? That Cassidy?"  
"Yep, Cassy who found him and cleaned him up and takes care of him," Abbie went on. "I think the Angel might know where Cassy is."  
The tall young man swallowed, unsure how to respond to this for a second. His stomach was suddenly in knots. Where on earth was Abbie getting these ideas from? Had she actually _seen_ something? Like Cassidy with the Angel before they both disappeared?  
He slowly fingered the keys on his security guard's belt.

"Why would the Angel know where Cassidy is?"

"He likes Cassy."

Omar's eyebrows shot up into his full, black fringe. "He…likes Cassy?"

"Yep, he likes Cassy a lot," Abbie confirmed, looking up at Omar with a terrible kind of worry in her young, innocent eyes. "But he doesn't like it when other people are with her. He said that he was going to take Cassy away with him so that it could just be her and him."

Completely taken aback, Omar blinked in confusion, somehow pulled into a place where the line between what was real and what was imagination had been so blurred that he was almost ready to believe what Abbie had just said.  
"And…if you talk to him…you think he can tell you where he took Cassidy?"  
"Yep, Omar. I think so."

After a moment of consideration, he reached for the keys on his belt and unlocked the door to the preparation room. Even if there was no way what she was saying could be true, Abbie was clearly determined to talk to the Angel either way.  
Also, she and Cassidy had been close.  
If talking to the Angel statue was going to help the little girl, he would only feel heartless denying her the right to do so.

"There you go, Abbie," Omar said, opening the door for her. " Go and do whatever you feel like you need to do."  
He couldn't help but smile as he watched the little girl excitedly run inside, despite the sudden feeling of coldness that washed over him.

* * *

Cassidy had paced the room- every wall, every corner and every alcove- for the hundred and forty sixth time. Every time that she did another lap of the room, she felt as though the room had gotten smaller- as though the walls were slowly closing in on her.  
She walked the room's breadth, putting one foot directly in front of the other.

Heel to toe.  
Heel to toe.  
Heel to toe.

She reached the other wall, pressing a flat palm and her forehead against the wallpaper. "Nineteen feet across," she mumbled aloud. "Is that smaller than when I measured it last time? Or is that the same size?"  
She couldn't remember.  
She couldn't remember and it mentally destroyed her to think that her brain was slowly rotting inside her skull from being in that godforsaken hotel room.  
The fact that she was trapped between those walls with nowhere to go, terrified her. The very thought often sent uncontrollable shivers through her body and unless she lay down immediately, she was quickly unable to breathe.

"Is this what claustrophobia feels like?" she thought, running a fingernail down the wallpaper, scratching out a long, wavy line. "Have I become a claustrophobe?"

Being a prisoner was finally starting to take its toll on her.

She hadn't slept the night before.  
Michael had not returned and after her nightmarish confrontation with "Angel Emily", slumber seemed like a foolhardy past-time.  
"She said that she was going to hurt me," Cassidy muttered. "She definitely _is_. She's just biding her time. She's going to follow through were threat any time now. Is she just going to send me back in time? Is that what I should wish for? Or else she's going to kill me…or just maim me…maybe that'll make Michael stop being so fixated on me, like she said…or maybe then _he'll _kill me? Where is he? What's he doing now?"

Her head was starting to hurt and her heart was starting to thump uncontrollably in a sporadic, uneven rhythm. "No, no. Stupid girl. Stop thinking about that. Distract yourself. Do something. Anything."  
She dropped to her knees and for the thirteenth time that day, took the plastic comb from her pocket of her shorts and started to carve a little picture into the skirting boards and wallpaper.

Cassidy had originally cursed the fact that when Michael had abducted her, she had been wearing next to nothing. Now she was grateful beyond reason for it.  
The heat in her room was absolutely killing.  
Sunlight glowered through the single window every hour of every day. The vents in the room were evidently too small to let in a sufficient amount of air at once and unable to open the window, Cassidy's room was prone to becoming a small, sweltering greenhouse.

Her skin, having been cultivated and raised in foggy, old London town, was completely unused to the glare of L.A.'s sunshine. One of shoulders had already been burnt raw red from her falling asleep during the day  
"Falling asleep" was actually a particularly nice euphemism.  
In actual fact, "passing out" might have been a better word for her.  
Overheated and practically suffocated, Cassidy had gone from being bored during the day to being unable to do anything but lie down on the carpet, in the shadows, alone with her own thoughts.

She had taken to sleeping in her underwear.  
Not just because the heat was so intense but because she hadn't changed her clothes in such a long time.

She felt _filthy_.  
She would often wake up, her entire body slick with sweat from the intense heat.  
Thankfully the water system worked just fine so cold showers and a long gulp of metallic-tasting water from the taps were still available as a welcome salvation. She had taken to ritually showering three times every day. Two cold showers during the day and then one hot shower at night.  
Cassidy would linger in the shower, even after turning off the head, watching the water run down the drain and wishing that she could just melt into liquid and escape from that place with it.  
She wanted to feel a natural wind draw across her.  
She wanted to feel rain against her skin again.  
She wanted to feel sunlight again without being afraid that it would one day kill her.

While water was a plentiful resource, the hunger pains in Cassidy's stomach often gave her another reason to hate the Angels who acted as her prison wardens. They engorged themselves every day on the potential life energy of all those in their captivity while she was slowly starving.  
The food that Michael had brought her had quickly run out and with no way to get out and no way for Stan to sneak food into her, complete starvation was suddenly a frightening reality for her.  
Where was Michael? She hated that stone beast but he truly was her only link to the outside world and her only way of procuring food.  
"At least on a positive note," Cassidy murmured to herself, finishing the little daisy that she had been carving. "The damn growling in my stomach has died down to a hollow ache. No more annoying slurping sounds when I'm trying to think…"

Her mind was fractured.  
She threw herself on to the bed, wiping sweat from her brow and curling her legs into her chest.  
_Where was Michael?  
_She tried to tell herself that the only reason why she worried so much was because he was the one who brought her food but in the pit of her empty stomach, she knew that wasn't true.

"Where are you?" she whispered, eyeing the wilting rose in the glass tumbler at her bedside. "Have you forgotten me? Have you abandoned me? Lost interest in me? Are you going to leave me here to die?" She shut her eyes tight, still whispering aloud. "Or has something happened to you? Those fissures in your chest were deep. Did they get worse?"  
Her heart started to pound harder, anxiety engulfing her at the thought of _her_ beautiful statue crumbling to pieces. "You're stronger than that, aren't you?"

He had been gone for a whole day now.  
Over twenty four hours.  
Or was it?

With no clock and only a few random time checks from Stan every day, Cassidy's body clock had soon deteriorated from a twenty four hour day to five basic time periods:  
Sunrise. Daytime. Evening. Sunset. Night-time.

"How many sunsets has it been since he took me here?" Cassidy suddenly asked aloud, as though talking to someone who wasn't there. "Have I been here for longer than a week yet? Yes…has it almost been two weeks?"  
She couldn't remember at all. Her eyes opened and she grabbed her head in agony, curling completely into the foetal position. "Mum will be so worried…"  
She wanted to see her mum again.  
She needed to know that her mum was alright.

Sometimes, when she spent entire days without sleeping, she imagined that her mother was sitting in the room with her. This image of her mother seemed so real that it felt as though she could reach out and touch her.

"Cassy," she'd say, looking over to her daughter. "I was so worried. Why didn't you call? Where have you been? Did you run away?"  
"No," Cassidy would tell her mother frantically. "No, Mum! I didn't run away! I wouldn't abandon you like Dad did! No! That Angel! He took me here! He took me away! It's alright though…I can come home now! You can take me ho-…"  
But then she'd reach out to touch her mother's wrinkled hand and feel nothing but the softness of a duvet cover, reminding herself that it was all in her head.

And the doctor.  
Where was the doctor?  
He said he'd find her soon.  
Had he given up on her already?  
Despite Michael having broken it, Cassidy still knelt by the phone sometimes, praying to God that the doctor would call again to tell her that he knew where she was and that he was coming for her.

Cassidy sniffed where she lay, trying to sit up again.  
Her skin still hurt in the places where it had been burned, bitten, bruised and broken. She winced, leaning over the edge of the bed and wanting to cry.  
The acrid pains of intense emotion burned behind her eyes and crept through her facial features but all that she could manage was a few dry sobs.

No tears.  
She had cried so often- had she finally cried her eyes dry?

Or was it just that she had finally had enough of crying?

"They may have given up on me," Cassidy said aloud, dragging herself to her feet. "But I haven't given up on myself yet."  
She paced the room for the hundred and sixty fifth time, her mind racing again with thoughts of escape. "Even if I _do_ get out- there's a hundred of those damn Weeping Angels patrolling the corridor outside this room and the whole hotel itself…and if what Stan says is true, they only let the other people outside before sunset. They know I'm with _him_ though. They know I'm different." She frowned. "What that stone bitch said was proof enough of tha-…"

Her eyes widened with realisation as she realised something.  
Angel Emily had tampered with the chains and locks on the door to allow Cassidy to let her in.  
_But had she replaced the locks again? _

Her heart in her mouth, Cassidy walked over to the door and gingerly put her hand on the handle, murmuring silent prayers.  
She slowly pushed downward and _the handle moved!_

Part of Cassidy's soul suddenly leapt and a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in a long time.  
She could get outside.  
She slowly opened the door a fraction but upon seeing a blur of grey at the end of the corridor, quickly closed it again. Stan had told her that the Angels weren't always patrolling that corridor- that sometimes they moved around in the evening time when there were no humans walking around. They certainly weren't expecting _her_ of all people to leave her room anyway, either. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking deeply.  
She could wait until the evening and sneak out of the door, find some kind of fire escape and head down to the lobby. She would have to be fast and have few hesitations too.  
The risk was sky-high but the promise of getting away- of complete escape- was enough to tantalise Cassidy.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she said aloud, looking at the phone. "I know that you told me to stay here, but if I do, I'll die. You found me here once, you can find me again."

With no more time to spare, Cassidy ran to the bathroom, taking a piece of toilet paper and scrunching it up. With the greatest of care, Cassidy opened the door just a crack and stuffed the tiny knot of tissue paper into the main bolt of the lock before closing it again. That way, even if someone noticed that the door was unlocked and decided to lock it again, she could still prise it open.  
She looked to the window.

The sun was lowering in the sky.  
It wouldn't be gone until the blazing azure of day had given way to the cool violet skies of night. Stan would be back from his usual walk to the Speakeasy at any time now. She swallowed and walked back to the bathroom, disrobing with the intention of taking one final shower before attempting her escape.

Cassidy ended up sitting under the hot jets of water, her back pressed to the porcelain tiles and her head resting upon her bare knees.  
There had been something that was weighing upon her mind for a long time now.  
Something that superseded just about everything else that was being tossed about in the inner maelstrom of her psyche.

Why had that Angel cared so much about what Michael thought about her?  
The Angel almost seemed jealous that Michael seemed to fuss over her so much.  
"That's _obsession_," Cassidy told herself. "And what I'm feeling right now is Stockholm Syndrome. Nothing more."

That said, if what the Angel had said was true- it meant that Michael had made it public knowledge that he thought she was different to the other humans.  
That she was _special_.

She thought back to what Stan had said about Michael giving her the necklace and the constant gifts of roses.  
Was _that_ really his intention?

Cassidy shuddered despite the warmth of the water, shaking her head and starting to feel sick again.  
"No, no, no, no…it can't be. He couldn't really feel that way but treat me like _this._"

Yet beneath her many layers of fear and disgust at the very thought of Michael having any kind of affection for her, Cassidy couldn't deny feeling a ripple of something different.

Something warm.

* * *

A pulsing, whirring sound rang out through the air of an enclosed British estate and a blue police-box materialised in front of the large old Victorian house.  
The door swung open and wiry, young-looking Time Lord popped his head out.

"It worked!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Ha-ha! It worked! Here we are!" He stepped out, grinning. "Number fourteen, Oakside…and we're in the present day!"

Clara followed the doctor out, cautiously examining their surroundings before stepping out and shaking her head with a chortle. "Finally! I told you that we should have taken a left after that last huge bump in the time-stream. We probably would have gotten here faster."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at the young woman. "No one likes a backseat driver, Clara."

Edmund stumbled out of the TARDIS, his face as white and wet as vanilla ice-cream and his once-neat hair now tousled out of shape.  
He looked around, wide eyed and coughing, clinging to the door frame for dear life.  
"W-We're actually here this time…?" He stepped out, tripping slightly. "Ah!"  
The archaeologist brushed his hands down his suit, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Well it's about time!"

"Exactly," the doctor grinned, cheerily. "Clever boy. That's exactly what time travel is about. Time."

Edmund glowered at the taller man, replacing his glasses and wincing. "My stomach is in bits. Is there a cure for that kind of motion sickness?"  
The doctor rolled his eyes, giving Clara a nudge and dropping his voice to mutter. "Time travel virgins."

His pretty companion couldn't conceal a smile but all the same, dropped her voice to scold him. "Leave him alone."  
Clara turned to Edmund, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. You'll get used to that."

"Rightly so," the doctor chimed in, studying the house's outer walls. "Now, how do we get in here?"

Edmund frowned, beckoning the other two to follow him. "I can't believe you're both so breezy about this. We ended up in _four_ different places before we got here. Two of which were in the _past_ and two of which were not even on this _planet_…" The young man's eyes widened, still in shock after all he had seen. "You act as if this happens every day."

"Well," shrugged Clara. "Maybe not for you."

"Plus it's not as though we got waylaid on purpose. Those directions that you gave me _were_ rather complicated," the doctor pointed out, spotting the front gate and trotting up the path to the front door.

"Complicated?!" Edmund repeated in disbelief, following him. "If you had followed the instructions _exactly_ as I had given them, we wouldn't have had to-…"  
"What is it about people who work in museums that makes them think that they know better than everyone else?" the doctor interjected, springing up on to the front porch of Cassidy's house. Before a disgruntled Edmund had a chance to reply, the doctor was already hunting around the porch, sonic screwdriver in hand.

"What is that?" the male of the two humans asked, eyeing the object with both curiosity and suspicions.

"It opens doors," the doctor said simply, holding it to the front door's keyhole for a moment before pushing the door open. "And this whole doorway is teeming with the Angel's time signature. He was definitely here. Definitely on the hunt…" And with that, the doctor scurried inside.

Edmund squirmed a little. "This is technically breaking and entering," he stated, looking to Clara. "Isn't it?"

Clara chuckled. "Well, he didn't actually _break_ anything. Did he?" She followed the doctor inside, gesturing for Edmund to follow. "And don't worry. You'll get used to _his_ rules too."

"Yoo-hoo!" the doctor shouted, listening to his own voice rattling through the house. "Hmm…nobody home. I suppose it's better off that way…"

Edmund caught up with the doctor, watching him as he traced various objects of furniture with the strange gadget in his grip. "S-So…how do we know that the Angel isn't _here?_"

The doctor shook his head dismissively. "I would have picked that up in the doorway. No need to get your pants in a bunch, Ed, my lad."  
Despite this quick reassurance, all three of the self-made investigators jumped a little when the phone on the hall table started to ring.

Almost automatically, Edmund moved over to lift the receiver but Clara held out a hand to stop him. He looked to her quizzically but she only shook her head. "One of the most important rules. Don't get too involved in someone else's business."

The phone rang out and the answering machine sounded out through the house.

"_Hello!"_ a cheerful, elderly woman's voice warbled on the line. _"This is the residence of Maria and Cassidy Albright. We're probably not here at the moment but if you'd like to leave your name, number and a short message, we'll get back to you soon…BEEP…" _

"Cassidy? Cassidy, are you there?" a younger woman's voice demanded to know, sounding both frantic and confused. "Cassidy, seriously? Where are you? Your mother's condition is only getting worse and they can't bring her home. She really needs you right now. Where are you?" She sighed. "Look, whenever you get this, please, please, please call me and get to the hospital right away. Goddamn it Cassidy, this really isn't funny…your mum really wants to see you right now and I can't keep telling her that you're working…BEEP."

There was a moment of silence before the doctor murmured quietly with a frown, his head bending a little. "Oh dear…that doesn't sound good."  
Clara shook her head, sighing. "There's just another reason why we need to track her down as quickly as possible."

As if he had suddenly been struck by an energising bolt of electricity, the doctor suddenly sprang to life once more. "Too right, Miss Oswald! Now! Onward!"  
He pulled out his screwdriver again, making a beeline towards the kitchen. "Hmm…the signal is really picking up in here…I'm guessing this is where he took her…"  
The doctor studied the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner. "Right, no obvious signs of forced entry. Angels aren't exactly famed for their subtlety…"

"So maybe he got in the back door?" suggested Clara, walking over to the door and giving it a rattle in its hinges. She turned back to the doctor. "Maybe this is where he cornered her?"

Edmund opened his mouth to speak was silenced by his mobile phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out, grimacing slightly. "Do you mind if I take this?"  
The doctor was too busy running the sonic screwdriver around the door frame to answer so it was upon Clara to shake her head politely.

Not waiting for a second opinion, Edmund left the room with the phone to his ear.

The doctor straightened up, his brow furrowed, betraying the deep thinking process that he was currently engaged in. "Hmpf…this is definitely the spot where she was taken…I'd bet the TARDIS on it…"  
"So we can use whatever readings you've come up with to track Cassidy down?" Clara questioned hopefully, only to lift an eyebrow at the Time Lord's new expression. "Wait, I know _that_ look. What's the matter? Can't you track the signature?"  
"I can," the doctor said finally. "Or at least the TARDIS can. But the problem is that it's fragmented…"  
"Fragmented?" Clara echoed. "So what, like the time signature has been…broken?"  
"When a time signature is left to sit for a long time, it slowly starts to decay and to fracture," the doctor explained, rubbing his chin. "It's like a painting suddenly turning into a jigsaw puzzle. They pieces are there, sure, but it's going to take the TARDIS quite a while to turn these pieces into co-ordinates that she can actually follow."

Clara frowned. "Oh no. How long will it take? Like on the basis of a rough estimate?"  
"Rough estimate?" the doctor pondered aloud, striding around the table and bending down to pick up the withered red rose that lay on the kitchen floor. "A few days. Maybe a week…" He gritted his teeth, starting to become visibly antagonised. "This isn't fair. She doesn't _have_ that long."

"Ok," Clara said, running her fingers back through her hair. "Ok. Say we can't find her at the moment. Could we go back in time? Maybe stop him from abducting her in the first place?"  
"It can't be done," the doctor responded sharply and quickly, crushing the head of the rose in his hand. "It…it just can't be done."  
Clara walked over to him, inspecting the rose before looking up at him. "Why not?"  
The doctor sighed and after a long pause, looked down at Clara. "There are certain events in history that cannot be undone because they have to happen. For other reasons. Greater reasons."

Clara's brows knitted at this and her eyes scanned the doctor's face, searching for the answer to the question that had been weighing on her mind. "You said that you knew Cassidy in her future," she said slowly, lowering her voice. "What do you know about Cassidy Albright that you're not telling me? What _has_ to happen? What's going to happen to her?"

The doctor opened his mouth- either to reply, to deny or to change the subject completely.  
However whatever he was going to say was rendered redundant by Edmund suddenly running back into the kitchen- his expression both shocked and incredulous.

"What is it?"

"It's the statue," Edmund said breathlessly. "The alien angel statue thing. It's back."  
"What?" Clara exclaimed, promptly forgetting about her impromptu interrogation. "Back? Back where?"

"Back to the museum! That was Leon Drake from the tour guide's department. The angel statue was found outside the preparation room this afternoon. It's a bit damaged but it's being kept in the museum right now!"

The doctor's eyes widened. "He won't be there for long. There's no way he'd leave her alone for too long."

Edmund looked to the doctor. "Do you think we could catch him before he leaves?"  
Clara followed Edmund's stare. "We could at least get a stronger, fresher time signature from him, right?"

A sudden grin spread across the doctor's face, stretching from ear to ear. "Ha-ha! This is fantastic! Quickly!" He looked to his full-time and part-time companions. "We have to get to the museum now! Let's go!"  
He made a dash for the front door, Clara quickly bolting after him.  
Edmund sighed, reluctantly jogging in their shadows and calling out: "Is there any chance that we could just call a taxi this time?"

"A taxi?" the doctor laughed, opening the door of the TARDIS. "Oh Ed, you crack me up."  
For the second time that day, Edmund climbed back into the blue police box- however this time, he was making extreme mental notes regarding bracing himself for an imminent rough take-off.

Clara looked to him, standing on the TARDIS' glossy main deck once again. "A taxi? Really?"  
Edmund sighed. "I thought it was worth a shot."

Thankfully, they managed to hit their target on the first try and within minutes, the trio were spilling into the lobby of the museum- only to be stopped by a burly security guard.  
"No access to visitors today, mate," he growled. "By order of the police. There's been an art theft."

"I _work_ here," Edmund pointed out, annoyed and indignant as he held up his identification card. "Edmund Potter. Department of Archaeology…bloody Hell…"  
He pushed past the security guard and into the main hall.  
The guard turned to the remaining two and the doctor, undeterred, quickly flashed his psychic papers.

"Yeah, we're with him. Archaeology and history and all that jazz. Have a nice day."

"What do you mean it's gone again?!" Curator Stanford was shouting at a rather shaken-looking security guard, as the three ran past. "It must be in the building somewhere! Someone couldn't have just taken it in broad daylight and statues don't just walk away! This is _killing_ the museum's business."  
"Don't worry, sir," a police officer quickly assured him. "The quarantine is just in place so that we can find the statue. The perpetrator couldn't have left the museum without being spotted so more than likely he or she is still here…we'll find them soon…"

The doctor was about to stop to talk to Stanford but Edmund quickly grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away.  
"Oi! I begrudgingly respect what you do! Let me do_ my_ work!"  
Edmund shook his head. "There's no point in talking to Stanford. He's way too frazzled with the police presence to hear and if you mention the word "alien" in front of him- he'll have all three of us hurled out of here…"

"Ok," Clara said, uniformly taking the doctor's other arm. "Right so, who _can_ we talk to?"

Edmund looked around for a moment, quickly glancing over the crowds of people in the lobby before dragging them over to a red-haired security guard.  
"Hey Leon…"  
"Hey Edmund," he returned, looking from the doctor to Clara with raised eyebrows. "And hello to?"  
"This is Clara and this is…the doctor. They're both archaeologists too. From abroad," he introduced, not giving Leon a chance to ask any questions. "So what happened here? I thought you said that the statue was back?"

"Well it _was_ here," Leon explained, folding his arms. "Abbie just found it this morning in the middle of a corridor. We put it in the preparation room to be held until we could sort things out but when we came back later to check on it, it was gone. Just vanished! No one saw it leave the room and no one saw anyone go in aside from Abbie but Omar said that she was just looking at the statue and trying to talk to it…" He rolled his eyes a little. "You know what kids were like."  
Clara frowned. "Kids can say some pretty important things sometimes. It really is good to take them seriously once in a wh-…"  
"Ignore her," the doctor said, hurriedly. "She's a nanny by profession. Has kids on the brain. Anyway, where is this preparation room exactly?"

Leon blinked, slightly taken aback by the man's brashness. "Uh…well Edmund knows where it is. It's on the-…"

"Excellent! Ed! Make yourself useful and show us there!"  
Without a further glance to Leon and taking no heed of Edmund's protests, the doctor was already dragging the young man away.

Clara turned to Leon, forcing a smile and shrugging. "He's a _huge_ art crime enthusiast…really loves a good mystery…"  
She caught up with Edmund and the doctor, looking deeply offended as she gave the doctor a firm slap on the arm. "Kids on the brain?"

The doctor winced but managed a breezy shrug, all the same. "I had to hush you up. Time is of the essence here." He pulled the sonic screwdriver from the inner folds of his coat once again. "Quite literally, I'm afraid."  
He paused for a moment before pouting and running a hand over his forearm. "And don't hit me like that again."

"Here we are," Edmund announced, now rather out of breath from trying to keep up with the doctor's jaunty, brisk galloping. "This is the preparation room."  
Without waiting for Edmund to pull out his keys, the doctor opened the door, hurrying inside and quickly scanning the surroundings.

"Yes…yes…beautiful…beautiful!" he exclaimed. "This time signature is fresh right out of the oven! Perfect!"  
As the doctor pranced around the preparation room, examining the empty spot where the Lonely Assassin had once been captive, Clara and Edmund found themselves idle.

"So, was Cassidy a very good friend of yours?" Clara asked, wishing to break the silence.  
Edmund nodded. "In a way. We've been working together for three years. I'm Dr Hewitt's assistant and she's his apprentice. She's fine on her own though. She really only took the apprenticeship to make some important contacts." He frowned, shrugging. "I guess I always kind of saw her as a rival. Makes me feel bad to think that I was pretty nasty to her sometimes because of that."  
Clara smiled faintly. "I'm sure she saw past the rivalry…and a little bit of competition always spices up a workplace friendship, right?"  
"Maybe," Edmund responded, managing to return the smile. "We used to have a lot of fun on the digs too…and working here in the prep room…Cass really loves her work too so she's never hard to get on with…" His smile faded slightly. "Clara…the doctor keeps talking as if we're on a time limit and that something bad is going to happen to Cassidy if we don't get to her before the time runs out...what's going to happen to Cassidy?"

Clara's smile vanished just as quickly and despite seeing how much Edmund Potter cared for his friend, all she could do was take a deep breath and very honestly reply: "I wish I knew, Edmund. I really wish I knew."

"Hello?"  
A buoyant little girl's voice called out from behind them and turning around, Clara and Edmund watched as the owner of the voice peeped around the door-frame.

"Oh hello there," said Clara with another quick smile. "Are you lost?"  
Edmund smiled too. "No, she's not. Are you, Abbie? Abbie is here all the time." He beckoned her over, giving her a high five. "Clara, this is Abigail Drake. Abbie, this is Clara…" He paused for a moment before pointing to the man who was now practically crawling across a row of shelves. "…and that is the doctor."

"Hiya," Abbie chirped, smiling up at Clara before looking over at the doctor with interest. "Is he looking for something?"

"He's looking for the angel statue," Edmund told her. "He was here earlier, wasn't he?" He tilted his head, his eyes widening slightly with realisation. "Leon told me that you were in here with him…is that true?"

"Yep," Abbie said, still watching the doctor. "We was talking for a while."  
Clara crouched down so that she was at eye-level with Abbie, her face creasing with concern. "What did you talk about?"

"He wanted to know where some tools and stuff were so I showed him."  
"Tools and stuff?"  
"Yep. From in here."

Edmund immediately walked over to the work-bench starting to sift through various apparatus and taking a brief, quick inventory. Clara looked back to Abbie.

"After you showed him where the tools were, Abbie, what did the Angel say?"  
"He didn't say nothing. He just stayed there and didn't do anything. I had to go to lunch with my brother so Omar locked the door. When we got back, he was disappear-ded."  
Clara straightened up. "So the Angel didn't say anything about where he was going, did he?"

"He is prolly going back to where Cassy is. I think he took Cassy away…but my brother Leon didn't believeded me…" The little girl hung her head, looking a little disappointed.  
Clara put a hand on her shoulder, smiling brightly. "Hey, don't worry, Abbie. We believe you. Me, the doctor and Edmund. We believe you completely."  
"Really?" Abbie squealed, brightening up.  
"Yes, definitely," Clara told her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "And we're going to find out where the Angel took Cassidy so that we can bring her home." She couldn't help but smile even wider at the little girl's sudden look of pure joy. "Why don't you go and find your brother Leon again? I'm sure he's super worried without you to look after him."  
Abbie nodded, before scurrying out of the door once more.

Edmund return to Clara's side. "Well, she was right. Several of the varnishing and plaster filling tools are missing. Not to mention, Cassidy's tool kit." He frowned. "What he want with all of those things?"

"To be repaired," the doctor said, walking back over to his two human sidekicks. "You mentioned earlier that the statue was damaged? The Angels heal better when they're in their stone form. This one must have stolen the resources in order to coerce Cassidy into fixing him up."

"Did you get any good results from the…?" Edmund's voice trailed off and he gestured to the sonic screwdriver. "…scan-thingie?"

The doctor resisted the urge to make a scornful remark following his use of the phrase "scan-thingie" and nodded instead. "The _screwdriver _is processing the results now. Any minute now, we'll know exactly where Cassidy is in 1923."

"Doctor," Clara questioned. "I thought the Weeping Angels are supposed to be psychopaths. This one was alone with that little girl for quite a while and he didn't make a move. Why wouldn't he just kill her as a witness or send her back in time or something? I mean, she knows that he's alive…"

The doctor shrugged, smiling. "He's obviously well nourished- so he has no need to feed off of her. He either didn't kill her because he has some kind of use for her in mind or better still, he's got other things pulling his attention…"

"Is that a good thing?" Edmund felt the need to question.

"It's a very good thing, Ed. It means that Cassidy is still alive and well. He was eager to return to her…" A small wave of some kind of emotion- somewhere between disgusted and concerned- briefly rippled across the doctor's face but before either of his companions could question this, the sonic screwdriver let out a loud beeping sound.

"Aha!" the doctor whooped. "We've got her!" He studied the screen. "Let's see…June, 23rd, 1923…" His eyes briefly widened and a more intrigued smile passed over his lips. "Perfect…very fitting I must say…"

"What? What is it?"  
"Where is she?"

"Our dear Cassidy is in Los Angeles. The city of Angels."

* * *

She knew that telling Stan about her plans would have been pointless.  
He would only try to talk her out of doing what she needed to and in her current fragile mental state, he'd more than likely succeed in doing just that.  
As such, Cassidy chose not to breathe a word about her escape attempt to Stanley P. Quinn. Instead, she made a point of telling him what an amazing friend he was and how thankful she was to have him to talk to, just before bidding him goodnight.

Keeping the lights in her room off and instead, relying on the light of the moon that spilled across the carpet in pale white rays- Cassidy padded over to the door. A light touch upon the handle told her that it was still unlocked and ready to be opened.  
She took a few long, deep breaths to calm herself before opening the door just a slither- enough to see the end of the corridor.  
Her heavy heart felt a little lighter when she noticed that there was no Angel standing there and a quick glance in the opposite direction confirmed that the corridor was empty. Cassidy closed the door again, taking a moment to console herself, looking up at the ceiling.

This was it.  
She felt the intense acidic burn of the kind of anxiety that she had never felt before. This wasn't like taking University exams, talking to an employer or awaiting the next episode of a favourite television programme.  
The choices that she would make within the next few minutes would determine whether she earned her freedom or met her death.  
"Alright," she murmured to herself. "You can do this. If you see any of the Angels, just keep looking at them and when you turn a corner- run. You escaped a Weeping Angel before. You can do it again."

She was about to leave when a sudden thought occurred to her. Cassidy ran to her bedside table, opened the drawer and took out necklace that Michael had given her. She looked at it for a moment, running her thumb delicately over the intricate silver tendrils and sparkling diamonds.  
"I don't know whether you really care about me or not," she whispered. "And I don't know what your intentions for me ever really were…but I'll die if I stay here. Whether my blood is on your hands or not."  
Cassidy lightly laid a kiss upon the largest diamond, revisiting that hazy, champagne soaked memory of placing a kiss on Michael's stone lips when she was back at the museum. If she never saw him again, that was how she wanted to remember him.  
Not as a monster.

She slipped the necklace into her pocket and crept back to the door, swallowing her fear and stealing out into the hallway.  
The hallway was dimly lit and every now and then, the lights above Cassidy's head would flicker. She could truly care less about that though; as long as the long corridor was deserted.

Deciding that the lift would be too much of a risk, Cassidy ran along the right-side wall until she found a single, grubby, wood-panel door that seemed to stand out among the rest.  
Upon opening it, she discovered that it was the stairs and quickly slipped out of the corridor. It truly amazed her that there were no Angels anywhere to be seen.  
Perhaps they were out hunting? Or maybe changing the guards?  
A thousand theories ran through Cassidy's mind but she did not pause for a second to ponder any of them.  
She followed the stairs at each turn until she finally reached the familiar darkened lobby. It was exactly as she had remembered it only now, the sight of the abandoned luggage filled her with an overwhelming sense of fear: now she knew what had become of the people who had once owned it.

Her heart soared at the sight of the doors.  
Freedom was finally within her reach. Promptly abandoning her "creep quietly" strategy, Cassidy broke into a run, her eyes locked firmly on the revolving doors in front of her. She was so close that she could already feel cool air pouring through the doors and brushing against her face…

Suddenly Cassidy felt a searing pain in the back of her head as long, cold fingers grabbed her by the hair and tore her backwards, flinging her on to the ground.

"Ahh…" she groaned, sitting up and suddenly freezing when a long shadow was cast over her. She looked up slowly, her eyes widening as they traced up and along a glaring female Weeping Angel. This Lonely Assassin was standing right over her, one long, lithe arm extended and reaching down to her.  
When she saw the smirk on the Angel's face, she knew exactly who had her cornered. It was the stone seraph who had confronted her the night before.

"You…"

"Yes," Angel Emily replied lightly, her stone visage unmoving but her voice quickly dropping into a sinister chord. "It's me." The sneering Angel giggled. "Surprised, Cassidy?"

Cassidy did not reply, instead she focused on keeping her eyes as wide open as possible and slowly started to crawl backwards.

"This just illustrates how utterly predictable and pathetic you humans are," she went on, her sweet young lady's voice completely unfitting for her terrifying monologue. "You walked right into my little ruse, didn't you? You see, if I had decided to do away with you last night- I would have gotten into tremendous trouble with my superior Angels…"

Cassidy's eyes began to water but she refused to blink, stubbornly staring up at Angel Emily. Her heart was thumping so hard that she was certain that the frightened cardiac muscle would soon splinter the bones of her rib-cage. Her head hit against something wooden and she realised that she had backed herself up against the counter.

"Your owner and dearest "guardian" made us all agree not to harm you, provided that you did not breach our rules. However, I knew that if I left your door unlocked, it would only be a matter of time until you would take the bait and try to escape." She gave another high-pitched snigger. "And guess what? Trying to leave the feeding grounds at night is in direct violation of our rules. The punishment? Immediate execution." Her voice dropped another octave to what was little more than a growl. "You cannot resist blinking forever, human and when you do blink, I will _destroy_ you. I was going to send you back in time…but I have decided that it is more of a credit to _him_ if I just slaughter you like the mewling lamb that you are."

Cassidy shook her head, still refusing to blink despite the fact that her eyes were now streaming. She was not going to cry, scream or show fear before this Angel, even if she knew that she had no chance of saving herself.

"Oh, look," the Angel sneered coyly. "The human wishes to put on a courageous front. Well, if she will not blink…I can always turn off the lights…" She began to laugh, the small lamp on the counter top suddenly flickering. All of a sudden, the Angel's laughing stopped and she let out a furious, almost metallic-sounding screech. "What is _that_? That _thing_ on your person?"

It took Cassidy all but a second to realise that she was talking about the necklace now dangling out of her pocket.  
"Th-This?" she managed to stammer, pulling it from her pocket and holding it tightly in her hand.

"He…he gave it to you…didn't he? As a gift?" the Angel said, her voice now a bare whisper and twitching ever so slightly.  
Cassidy nodded. "Yes. Yes he did."

"_Well, then," _Angel Emily said, her voice slowly rising to a phantom-like screech. _"His obsession has clearly gone too far! For his sake, I must kill you now!" _

The lamp above Cassidy's head slowly went out and as the darkness descended, her body seized up- awaiting the worst.  
Awaiting her death.

But nothing touched her.

A horrific shriek rang out through the air and it was quickly drowned out by a deafeningly loud roar. In the darkness before her, she heard ripping, tearing, smashing- all accompanied by a cacophony of screeches and a macabre symphony of snarls and growls.  
The floor beneath her seemed to rattle with the impact of something being smashed against it and a repulsive, skin-crawling melody of something fleshy being pulled apart and cracked brought the terrifying piece to a crescendo.

Then there was a silence.

Cassidy swallowed, slowly regaining her ability to breathe as the desk-lamp flickered back on.  
She couldn't suppress as gasp of shock at what she saw when the dust cleared. There were fragments of stone everywhere strewn across the tiled floor and among the large pieces of serrated debris, Cassidy could make out the outline of an Angel's wings.  
And an arm.  
And what was left of a head.

Angel Emily had been completely mutilated and torn asunder, almost beyond recognition.

Cassidy lifted a hand to her mouth, shaking all over as she looked up fully and saw him.  
Amidst the stone carnage, Michael stood, staring down at her. The pale yellow light cast shadows over his body, outlining his Goliath-like muscles, his mighty wings, his strong, defined features.  
And his eyes.

Cassidy was already in complete shock from her near-death experience.  
Though, nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

She suddenly heard a voice.  
A low, deep, masculine voice that rippled through her ears.

"Why did you try to escape me?"

For a split second, Cassidy honestly believed that there was another person in the room. Then she realised that it was _Michael_.  
Speaking to her.

"_Why did you try to escape me?"_

* * *

**Thanks for reading everybody :D  
I hope that you enjoyed this. Let me know what you thought. **


	12. XII

**Thanks a million guys! I love any kind of feedback and getting your opinions is seriously important to me too.  
I'm really concerned about getting the behaviour of the Weeping Angels to be as accurate as possible. **

* * *

"_Why did you try to escape me?" _

Cassidy's ears only barely drank in what she had just heard. She looked up at Michael with a quivering gaze.  
"You…you can speak," she said aloud, though her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. Her limbs felt heavy and rigid- bound by an unconscious fear of the unknown  
She was used to him being a silent entity and the idea of him actually being able to verbally communicate with her both intimidated and enticed her.  
The voice that came forth from the stone beast was, (guiltily), the voice that she had often heard in the darkest, most unspeakable, most sumptuous recesses of her dreams.

However the words that formed in his unmoving mouth and were forged by that very voice were nothing like the mellifluous niceties that the Michael of her dreams would have charmed her with.

"My, my…the human has such extraordinary skills of observation," the angel said, his tone overwrought with glacial sarcasm. "Yet she cannot answer a simple question. Perhaps I must ask for a third time." His voice was suddenly raised to a much louder, sharper bark, accentuated by a deep, guttural growl. "Why did you try to escape me!?"

Fright seemed to defibrillate her vocal chords and Cassidy found herself struggling for an answer. It was absurd in every sense but all of a sudden, she felt as though _she_ should be the one feeling guilty. It was as though she was standing in front of her school headmaster again, struggling to explain why she pushed another little girl in the yard. At the time of the crime, her actions had seem justified but now, a simple harsh tone and scrutinising gaze was enough to make her feel selfish.

She swallowed, trying to force some kind of answer from her dry jowls. "I…I…" Cassidy shook her head, allowing her spine to slowly grow back. "I…was hungry," she finally managed. "I was starving, in fact." She coughed, realising with horror for the first time that her whole body was covered with a spray of stone-ground dust.  
Angel Emily's remains.  
Cassidy shivered involuntarily, starting to brush her arms clean but keeping her eyes on Michael.

"Hungry?" he repeated, his voice more condescending than questioning.

"Yes, I was _hungry_," she told him. "I didn't have anything to eat."

Speech became easier with the realisation that if he had just killed "Angel Emily", (who was now lying in mutilated debris all around her), for an attempt to kill _her_, keeping her alive was obviously still part of his agenda. "I don't…I don't know why you're so shocked that I tried to run. I mean it's not as though I actually _like_ being stuck up in that room. In case you somehow didn't know…"

"_Silence."  
_His voice had become a blade- so unforgivingly cutting in tone that Cassidy could do little else than to comply with his orders, her voice instantly failing in her throat.

"Good girl," the living statue praised mockingly before giving his captive a new command. "Now. Rise."

Cassidy stayed where she was, head pressed against the back of the counter and legs curled up to her chest. She truly had no idea whether it was a sudden rush of adrenaline or the same insanity that had consumed her in the hotel room but reluctant to return to that godforsaken cage- Cassidy decided to test her warden's limits.

"_Rise_, human. Heed my command."

"…and if I don't?"

Her eyes were streaming again, itchy and sore but practice had given her endurance. She stared at Michael, unblinking.

Consequently, he did not move but a loud snarl erupted from the Angel, accompanied by an angry sneer.  
"Do as you please. Remain on the floor here. But the other Angels will soon be here and consider that I may not be as charitable when they arrive as I was when Kyrie assaulted you. I may just let them have you."

"…fine."

Deciding that the risk was not one worth taking, Cassidy slowly pulled herself to her feet. It was only when she put weight on her right leg that she felt the dull ache.  
Like a blunted knife, pressing against her tendons.  
Her tussle with Kyrie/Angel Emily had managed to leave her with more injury than she had initially anticipated.  
And yet somehow, despite her obvious rage, the venomous Angel had not caused half as much as bodily damage to her as Michael had.  
For the first time, she allowed herself to blink, soothing her burning eyes.

Michael made sparse movement: only stepping aside to allow her to walk ahead of him and now pointing towards the elevator.  
"Good choice. Now, get in and do not look behind you."

Wincing at each step, Cassidy limped towards the elevator. Her eyes skimmed the ground, lingering over Kyrie's remains. She had never seen a dismembered body of any kind before. She never once thought, however, that the first one she'd ever see- if at all- would be that of an alien from another world. Cassidy also would not have thought for a second that the first time she looked upon a pile of dismembered remains, she would feel such a sickening sense of satisfaction.

"Do you mourn the loss of that Angel?" Michael asked from behind her back. "Despite possessing the knowledge that she intended to kill you?"  
"I don't "mourn" her at all," Cassidy replied, her voice low and broken. She raised an eyebrow, stepping into the elevator. "She deserved what happened to her."  
No sooner had the words left her mouth, the young woman wanted to snatch them out of thin air and swallow them back down again.  
Kyrie had been near-psychotic and if Michael hadn't killed her, Cassidy would be dead in her place…but had she really just admitted that a living being deserved to die?  
She closed her eyes, silently praying that her captor's sadism was not somehow rubbing off on her.  
Whether it had or had not, Michael remained silent as ever and for the first time, it struck Cassidy just how frightening it was that the Angels seemed to move without making a sound.

A sudden sag in the floor of the elevator told her that the Angel had followed her into the elevator but before she could turn to check, two strong hands seized her shoulders and forced her to continue facing the back of the elevator.  
"Do not turn around."

Slowly, the elevator began to rise, clicking at each turn of the winding wheels, the cables whining at the stress of their combined weight.

It was almost strangely quiet.  
Cassidy wondered if the Weeping Angel who restrained her could feel the weight of the silence too.

Usually, Michael could not speak anyway and Cassidy dared not to so truthfully, things were not all that different.  
But the very fact that the Lonely Assassin now possessed the _ability_ to speak was enough to add a vein of awkwardness to the thick silence that had settled between the two of them.  
There were so many things that Cassidy wanted to say…to _ask_ her captor but try as she might, she could not make the words form in her mouth.  
Thankfully, she did not have to be the one to break the silence.

Michael's cool palms suddenly started to stroke her bare shoulders, her hair slipping over his knuckles. Cassidy instantly became numb to every other feeling aside from his hands on her and an overbearing heat rushed to her face.  
His fingers suddenly gripped her skin and she her lips started to tremble, feeling his claws dig into her skin- just enough to create intimidating pressure but not quite enough to puncture the soft flesh.

"I ought to punish you."

Cassidy blinked, feeling her heart-rate pick up. "Punish me?" She pressed her lips together, taking a breath between her teeth. She did _not_ want to feel his claws or teeth again.  
She tried to wriggle from his grip but he only chuckled at her efforts, restraining her with no effort on his part whatsoever.

"Precisely, human. You tried to leave me."

"Only because I was _starving_," Cassidy insisted, a sudden streak of annoyance rushing through her and in its company, the realisation that she could now finally have a two-way conversation with Michael. He hadn't been quick to show her mercy before but perhaps she could at least gauge his thought-process and find some way to talk him out of hurting her. "I thought that I was going to die and being stuck in that room was slowly driving me half-insane. Do you even know how that feels? To be trapped somewhere, slowly starving to death with no chance of being able to save yourself?"

The elevator door opened and Michael roughly shoved her into the hallway. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance and succeeding until the Angel suddenly took her by the shoulders once more and started to force her forward.

"As a matter of fact," he informed her coolly. "I know _exactly_ how it feels. I was chained and bound in irons in depths of that forest for almost two hundred years- unable to move and barely able to feed myself." He squeezed his claws against Cassidy's shoulders again. "You humans are unbearably ignorant."

Cassidy walked down the hallway, back towards her designated room once more, her heart sinking at each step. The accusation of ignorance was enough to make her want to retort but fearing that she would only annoy him further, she kept walking, silent and staring straight ahead.

Like Orpheus walking out of Hell, conditioned to walk without looking back at his beloved Eurydice.  
"Only that _beast_ is far from an innocent maiden," she thought. "And if anything, I'm walking back into Hell."

Truth be told, however, she actually _hadn't_ considered the fact that Michael had probably been shackled to the spot in that forest for an unbearable amount of time. She, herself, could not begin to imagine what that must have been like for any living creature and admittedly did not want to attempt to imagine such things.

Her eyes briefly lingered on Stan's door as they passed it.  
He was probably asleep at this stage but as always, Cassidy hoped that Michael's antics would not wake him. The Angel had shown him a rare amount of lenience once, in return for her complete obedience; she was unsure as to whether her captor would be willing to spare Stan's life once again.  
Or just what she might have to do in order to supplement said willingness.

Upon reaching her door, she entered the room quickly- not because she was eager to return in the slightest but simply because she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being able to manhandle her again.

She noticed straight away that the environment in her room had changed.  
Michael had somehow managed to smuggle many of her tools from the museum into the hotel, just as she had asked him to. Two huge sacks of plaster and resin powder now rested against the bed. Upon the bureau, her leather tool kit pouch along with several hammers, scalpels, brushes and two bottles of polish were laid out.

Cassidy was just about to question how he had managed to correctly choose the specific equipment involved in statue restoration with minimal information from her when she happened upon the obvious answer.  
"He's had all these tools used on his body. He recognised them from when I worked on him," she realised silently, a sudden rather disturbing thought jumping to mind. "So was he fully conscious when I was working on him? Did he feel everything? Could he hear and see _everything_?"

The door slammed shut behind her and automatically, Cassidy turned around only to jump slightly in panic.  
Michael's face was bare inches away from hers, his brow rutted in a deep scowl.

"Now that I have returned you to your place of dwelling and reunited your with your require equipment, you may begin your work on me."

Cassidy's sudden shot of fear was quickly replaced by another streak of annoyance. Being silently beaten around by the statue had been bad enough but the fact that he could now verbally berate her, quite literally, added insult to injury.  
She lowered her stare to the Angel's chest, her fists slowly clenching.

"…and if I don't?" she questioned him for the second time, posing a timid but deliberate challenge.  
"You are an ungrateful little female," the living statue growled. "Why would you find reason not to repair me? After all I have done for you…"

Cassidy's mouth just about fell open in disbelief. "_After all you've done for me?!_" A sudden repressed anger that had been simmering inside of her but gated by fear suddenly managed to break through, flowing out of her as she shouted. "What exactly do you think you've done for me?! You've _destroyed_ my life. You kidnapped me, you took me away from my family, my friends, my job…all to keep me locked up, starving and slowly going crazy in this awful place…"

"I have generously placed my head on the chopping block for you, you impudent little wretch," Michael sneered in response, only straightening up as she blinked and maintaining his intimidating height and posture. "Do you have any idea what the other Angels would have done to you had I not spent many hours negotiating and debating with them? You may be to ignorant and dull-witted to have observed this but you are treated _remarkably_ better than any other human in this Tribe's feeding ground and I have risked my reputation and my stature to ensure that."

Cassidy was admittedly slightly taken aback at this revelation but in a way, Michael had only underlined what she already knew. Kyrie had made it graphically clear that the other Angels did not like the way that she was treated by her captor. If anything, (and if Kyrie's opinions were to be trusted as a reflection of the whole "Tribe's"), it disgusted them.  
So the fact that Michael had stood up to the other Angels in order to ascertain that she would be kept safe was something that she begrudgingly had to admire.  
Yet at the same time, his actions sparked off a completely different, but long unanswered, string of questions.

"But _why_?!" Cassidy pleaded to know. "For what point?! If your kind don't like the way you treat me, why don't you just send me back in time again…or k-kill me? That's what you want, isn't it? For me to suffer? I mean, you've already fed off of all my time energy…that's what you said in your note…so what else could you possibly want?" The young woman raised her gaze slightly to stare at the Angel's lips- half contorted in a growl. "_What _do you _want_ with me?!" The young archaeologist found herself rather breathing heavily, realising that she hadn't shouted that loudly in quite a long time. "…I think you owe me that much information."

"…you think I owe you something, human?"

"Yes. If you're expecting me to stay here without wanting to escape- I'd at least like to know what I'm doing here. Am I being prepared for something? Are you experimenting on me? What?"

Michael remained stationary, letting a lengthy, tense pause set in before saying smoothly:  
"It is simple, really. My reason for keeping you here is that after a period of observing you at work, I have decided that you are suitable for becoming my personal slave. Weaker species have always served those that are superior to them; I find it odd that no Angel has ever considered keeping a human for their needs before me…"

Cassidy's eyes widened. "_Your slave?" _

"Perhaps the term "slave" in your language is a bit strong for what you are. Maybe I should refer to you as my "pet" from now on. I really do not expect you to see to everything that I need done. I take better care of you than you do of me," the Angel went on, cool and condescending as always. "Which is fortunate because, after all, you can scarcely fend for yourself, little human." A growl rippled from his throat that seamlessly morphed into a cruel snort of laughter. "No, I suppose aside from being able to repair me- you _entertain_ me and you are so very interesting to physically explore."

"Your pet?" she echoed, her eyes wide and staring. "_Your pet?! _That's what you want me here for? You can't keep me as a pet! You…Y-You just can't! It's not right!"

"Preposterous," Michael retorted, sneering. "For centuries and throughout this galaxy and many others, weaker, less intelligent species have been farmed and domesticated by more capable, stronger beings. Living under me will only and has only improved your life, you ingrate spawned from an inferior species. Now, begin you repair work on me immediately!"

"Or you'll do _what_!?" Cassidy shouted defiantly, truly tired of being spoken down to. "If you hurt me again, I won't be _able_ to repair you. It's not like you're going to _kill_ me either!"  
At her next blink, Michael's eyes were fixated on the back wall of the room- glowering.

"Do not test me, human," he seethed. "Just because it benefits me to keep you alive and healthy does not mean that I cannot thoroughly torture your tiresome, loud-mouthed little male friend."  
"Don't you dare threaten Stan again!" she ordered the Angel, suddenly forgetting that she was shouting at a monster with unmatched levels of strength and speed. "Don't you dare hurt him! You speak with such grandeur but you push people around whenever you don't get your own way. You're nothing but a bully and your actions are nothing but cowardly! You- ah! "

In the midst of her angry venting, Cassidy lost conscious control of her eyelids and in the split second that it took her to blink, Michael's hand had lashed out, slapping her hard across the face.  
He seized her by the front of her tank top, just narrowly avoiding ripping the flimsy Primark-bought material. He brought his face close to hers and snarled into her ear. "Now you listen here, you filthy, petulant little rat. I do not _need_ to harm your friends to convince you to do anything that I wish. I will resort to torturing _you_ if needs be. You only exist here because it is my will for you to do so. You have no right to command me to do anything, you pose no threat whatsoever to me and if you even _think_ about reprimanding me again…" He paused, dropping his voice to a thin, reedy whisper. "Just remember that I am the one who controls your livelihood here. Even if I were to release you, you are in a strange time, surrounded by strangers, in a city run by monsters…both Angel and human alike. You need me far more than I need you."  
He let go of her tank top.  
His words resounded in Cassidy's mind, punctuated by the harsh, undeniable knowledge that everything that he had said was true.

She was dependent on him.  
She was dependent on him and she hated herself for it.

She sank to the floor, both hands cradling her stinging cheek and her eyes flooded with involuntary tears. His fingers had connected with the gash on her cheek and thus, the pain from the slap had instantly doubled. The adrenaline produced by the anger had worn away quickly, like marks in the sand suddenly taken by a wave from the sea and Cassidy found herself burying her head in her hands in anguish.  
She had tried to be so brave and now she was a frightened, trembling mess again. Her shoulders shuddered and she covered her eyes, trying her hardest not to start sobbing.

"Come now," Michael said, his deep voice taking on a much more civil, even softer, tone. "You are weak from hunger and thus unable to think straight, let alone work. Stand and I will feed you."  
Cassidy kept her head down in her hands, still shaking like a cobweb moored in the breeze. Her famished stomach cried out for her to comply with his wishes but she knew that if she looked up now, she would start to cry in front of him and she didn't want him to see her weep.

She heard the Weeping Angel sigh and suddenly one of his huge arms wrapped around her, tucking around her abdomen and lifting her to her feet.  
"Sit upon the bed," he ordered, pushing her down on to the duvet before she even had a chance to voluntarily complete the request. "Where is the blindfold?"

Cassidy sniffed, slowly lowering her hands and looking up at the stone statue. "I pushed it down the side of the bureau…" She coughed, slowly regaining her composure. "But you don't have to be put it on me." She sighed. "I'll keep my eyes closed."  
Showing her willingness, Cassidy automatically shut her eyes.

There was a tense silence for a moment before Michael responded rather moodlessly: "Very well. But open your eyes and look at me even once whilst I feed you and you will be punished tenfold, human."  
The human girl nodded, waiting with slightly held breath as the Angel moved around behind her. Suddenly, one of Michael's arms wrapped firmly around her waist- locking her to his side- and a Styrofoam rim was pushed against her lips.  
Cassidy coughed and spluttered, whining in protest as Michael forced another cup of hot, black coffee down her throat.

"Ah...ah!" she whimpered, instantly opening her mouth to cool it. All of the blisters on her tongue that had started to heal were suddenly, painfully scalded once more. "If you let me drink it, I can drink it myself! And why do you keep giving me black coffee?" She shook her head. "Black coffee isn't the only thing that I drink. Surely you must…"  
Cassidy suddenly blinked, realising something for the first time.  
The only times Michael had ever seen her drink anything was in the museum and the main thing that she'd drank in front of him while working were cups of black coffee.  
"…I drink other things too," she told him finally, curling her shoulders forward.

"I am _aware_ of that," Michael retorted, grabbing her around the shoulders and pulling her back again so that she was sitting up straight again. "You also drink that strange golden liquid that makes you quite merry. Can you not drink your fill without spitting back like an infant?" He ran a finger along the sides of her face, wiping away the trickling trails of coffee.

"It's hot," Cassidy frowned, remembering that the Angel had seen her drunk on champagne and suddenly feeling a strange kind of embarrassment creep over her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by something else being pushed against her lips. Ignoring the temptation to open her eyes to inspect the strange object, Cassidy opened her mouth a sliver and let the Angel press it into her mouth. After a few seconds of rolling it around her mouth with suspicion, she realised the smooth, bulbous little capsule was an ordinary grape and swallowed it eagerly, opening her mouth to accept another.  
He fed her each grape one by one, in complete silence.  
As always, she found herself falling limp against him, lying against his massive frame and allowing him to feed her like an infant. After the mental turmoil that she had suffered earlier, it was admittedly relaxing to just switch off her inhibitions and to allow herself to be held.  
Chunks of bread and to her surprise, small pieces of chocolate followed the grapes.  
He waited for her to swallow each segment before slowly levering her lips apart with the next piece of food.  
Then the feeding was over and Michael simply sat there with her, holding her against his chest with one arm and brushing stray tendrils of hair from mouth.

She wasn't sure what was motivating her to speak- perhaps it was just the weight of the silence once more- but Cassidy found herself quietly asking:  
"Why do you want to feed me? If you just leave the food behind, I can eat on my own…"

"The act of "eating" as you humans understand it," Michael explained. "Is one that my kind do not need to experience. We absorb our food energy. The phenomenon of ingestion fascinates me…" The crown of Cassidy's head was just beneath Michael's throat and chin. She could feel his vocal chords vibrating and his chin moving above her. The smooth, firm skin beneath her cheek reminded that with her eyes shut- he was no longer a statue; he was a living, breathing man.  
A real man.  
A real Angel.  
Michael suddenly trailed a finger down her throat, over her chest and down to her belly. "The fact that you humans consume your food, masticate it in your mouths, take it into your stomach to absorb all the energy…it's both strange and intriguing."  
Cassidy flinched away from his touch, not liking the way he prodded her like a doll but he held her fast and continued to run his hand along her torso.

"Wh-why do you like touching me so much?" she blurted out, instantly worrying about the answer.  
But Michael's response was prompt and casual. "Because you are so delightfully soft and vulnerable. I could tear you limb from limb right now with my bare hands and menial effort."

Cassidy squeezed her eyes tight, risking lifting an arm to shield herself from the Angel's repeated petting. "Stop it."  
She was prepared for him to be viciously angry with her but he seemed uncaring, simply and effortlessly pushing her arm away with a deep, throaty chuckle. "Why? It is only fair that you allow me to touch you…I allowed you to place your hands on my body for months without complaint."

Her face was instantly doused puce with humiliation. "I only touched you because it was my job to do so!"

Michael suddenly stood up, lifting her to her feet once more. "Then let you perform the tasks that your job entails once again. You may open your eyes to begin repairs, human."

Cassidy exhaled as she opened her eyes once more, seeing that Michael was now standing at the foot of the bed, facing her with both arms by his sides.  
She considered rebuking him again but arguing with Michael was fast becoming as trying as arguing with an irritable toddler and an _abusive_ toddler at that.

"Fine. Alright, alright, alright," she said, looking around at the tools that she had before approaching the stone Angel before her. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she walked a familiar and fondly remembered path to the foot of the statue. She inspected the cracks in his chest with a trained eye, carefully running a finger over the jagged crevices. "The stone has been cut crudely," she noted aloud, as if speaking to an imaginary colleague. "But the cracks aren't actually as deep as I initially thought. With constant movement, the abrasive edges and sustained pressure will cause the cracks to expand and if the centre crack falls through…" She looked up at Michael, remembering that she was speaking to a sentient being. "…you could lose a lot of your torso and it will…erm…weaken the rest of your body, I suppose. So…I'm going to have to fill these cracks and polish over the restoration. Is that alright?"

"Whatever you see as necessary," he replied calmly. "Your repairs will be aided by my own metabolism anyway."

Cassidy rounded on the two huge sacks of resin and plaster powder behind her. It was all completely unmixed and after a few moments of consideration, she was dragging the two paper sacks into the bathroom. She mixed the plaster in the bathtub and the resin in the sink and used the discarded Styrofoam coffee cup to transfer a sample of the plaster into the bedroom.  
Filling the cracks was simple and applying the resin didn't take as long as Cassidy estimated it would. Though tedious, transferring the resin and plaster also went smoothly. For a while, it almost felt as though she was back in the museum again, in the preparation room and working at her own leisure.  
And what further supplemented this illusion was that Michael remained completely silent for the entire procedure.  
As if he really was just a statue.

Cassidy began to smooth the plaster out, letting the clotted liquid fill into the cracks. Her brows knitted with the realisation that she had come across a rather awkward problem. She frowned, poking the brush under the puckering fold of Michael's toga in order to further spread the plaster where it hadn't reached.

"Damn it," she murmured. "That's going to be a bitch…"

"Is something the matter?" Michael asked, causing the archaeologist to jump slightly.

"Er…it's your toga. Obviously when you weren't…qua-…" Rather than make an ass of herself trying to remember the word that the doctor had used, Cassidy quickly simplified her statement. "When you weren't turned to stone, your toga kind of fell over one of the cracks on your chest and it's covering it. I can still get to it. It's just a little difficult…and it might take longer to dry."

"I could always remove the toga," Michael stated smoothly. "If you close your eyes for a moment. Would it assist your process if I was bare?"

Cassidy coughed a little, feeling a lot of blood rush to her face. "No," she said quickly. "You really don't have to do that."  
Michael was quiet for a moment before suddenly saying with a notable degree of whimsy in his voice. "Why are you so bashful, little human? Have you never seen a naked male before?"

Cassidy remained silent, not saying a word and keeping her eyes on her work.  
Certain thoughts flitted through her mind but she did all she could to destroy them as they formed. They were the kinds of thoughts that brought a lightness to her head, a redness to her cheeks and sent soft tremors through her body. They were not the kind of thoughts that she wanted to deal with at that very moment.

"So…," she decided to say, patching up another layer. "You're an alien from another world...?"

"In a manner of speaking. The dimension that I was born in was not this one."

"How did you learn English?"

"_English?_ What skill is this?"

"The language that we're currently using. How did you come about learning it? I know it's not the language that you were born speaking."

"No being is _born_ speaking a language," the Angel informed her pedantically before going on. "My command over the language of humans comes from the fact that I have assimilated the brain-stem of a human male."

Cassidy shuddered at this reminder but she continued speaking, not allowing her thoughts to dwell on that fact. "Yes, but how did you understand the language that I was using in the museum? Even before you…could speak, you seemed to know exactly what I was saying."

"I acquired it from the local humans in the area where my Tribe hunted. They would often speak around us while we were in our quantum-locked state…"

"The local area? You mean Sherwood Forest? Where we found you?"

"Precisely. I have lived there for hundreds of years. Though for a portion of it, I _was_ restrained."

The museum staff had always prompted the Lil'Diggers junior archaeology club to imagine that each artefact could come to life and the stories that the artefact might tell.  
Now her statue had finally come to life and she could ask him whatever she wanted.  
Swiftly losing her fear of the stone monster beneath her fingertips, Cassidy asked the question that she had wanting to ask him for a long time.

"Why were you chained up in that forest?"

"Cleric. Men of the Church," the Weeping Archangel replied after a few moments. "Ecclesiastical Agents from another time. They were on a kind of vendetta. They heard that there was a Tribe of my kind living in that area. They found me and while I was in this stone state, they managed to chain me to the ground. They knew that they could not destroy me at my level of power so they restrained me instead so that I could not hunt, hoping that I would eventually starve to death."

"But…your Tribe," Cassidy questioned quietly, running a finger over the cracks and starting to go to work with her scalpel. "Couldn't they come to help you? You Angels are pretty damn scary in large groups…"

"They heard my shouts but they would not come and truthfully, I did not expect them to," he told her. "They exiled me for crimes against the group. I was once in the ranking to become Head Angel but then another male challenged me and robbed me of my position. I tried to rebel against him but he turned my fellows against me in return and accused me of treason."

"Couldn't you have fought him? And have won?"

"You do not understand, little human. The challenging male was my sire."

"Your…sire?"

"The male who conceived me and assisted in raising me."

"Oh, he was your father," Cassidy said quietly. "I…I guess I know how that feels." She smoothed the plaster down and added a drop of polish to the Angel's stone skin. "My own dad kind of betrayed my mum and I. He left us both when I was very young."

"Your sire abandoned you both?" Michael questioned. "It was my understanding that humans mated for life."

Cassidy frowned, shaking her head. "Usually we do. This situation was just…complicated…"

"How so?"

Desiring not to dwell on the topic, Cassidy did not answer the question but rather put a question of her own to the Angel. "Do you feel that? When I put the plaster into the cracks? Doesn't that hurt you?"

"I have an incredibly high tolerance for pain," he seemed happy to inform her.

"Evidently," Cassidy sighed, stepping back and waiting for the plaster to dry.

"It is good that you acknowledge that as a weaker being such as you acknowledges my superiority," the Angel responded, still speaking as a living statue. "You ask me many questions, little human. I will now put a question to you. Why do you not happily wear the piece of adornment that I brought you as a gift? Did it not please you?"

Realising that he was talking about the necklace, Cassidy squirmed uncomfortably. "No…I mean, _yes_ it "pleased" me." She looked down into her lap. "It's beautiful….I just can't accept it."

"Why not?"

"It's…far too extravagant as a gift…and I…I don't know what you want in return for it…"

"Are you really so dense and dim-witted, human?" Michael chided. "The collar was intended as a gift of gratitude for allowing me to feast on your years. Was I not clear enough in my written communication?"

Cassidy opened her mouth but speech had left her.  
It was as though she was incapable of verbalising her resentment towards him.  
As though she was completely unable to simply tell him that she didn't want the gift.

"I wish to propose a covenant with you, human," he orated in her silence. "I will show you my mercy, provided that you wear your adorned collar in my presence. Do you think that you can comply with these terms?"

"By "showing mercy", do you mean that you won't hit me anymore?"

"Only when you follow my orders exactly and thus do not require punishment."

After a minute of consideration and upon deciding that "mercy" sounded like a good offer, Cassidy nodded. "Fine. I'll wear the necklace whenever you're with me." She took a breath and made the further decision to take a quick gamble. "And could I add a term to that …covenant?"

"Speak, human."

"If I agree to repair you when you're damaged…you have to keep bringing me food on a regular basis…No starving me…"

"Starving you was never my intention. I simply got waylaid on my return from your former place of work. Your position there. You were a medic there, were you not? With your skills centred around healing, you are suited for little else."

Cassidy almost laughed. "A medic? No. I'm an archaeologist. We research the past and examine objects from long ago to determine how other humans lived back then."

"But you healed me completely. Does that not display the skills of a medic?"

"I was restoring you for presentation. Not for your well-being," she told him, resting her chin on her hands.

"Presentation? That is what you humans were doing with me? It was my understanding that it was a form of idol worship that those plebians were engaged in," Michael responded with a chuckle. "I suppose I cannot fault you all though for simply wishing to look at me. I _am_ a flawless specimen and males of my kind are extremely rare."

Cassidy gave a dry snort of laughter, standing to check that the plaster had dried before brushing it down with her fan brush.  
"How lucky for you. Come to think of it, you're the only male of your kind that I've seen here," she told him, slowly becoming aware of an uncomfortable churning feeling in her stomach. "You must have your pick of mates…that Angel who attacked me seemed to think so…"

What Michael said next, shot through Cassidy like a spear of heat, surging through her body and bringing the bizarre feeling her stomach to a boil.

"Does that make you jealous, little human?"

Cassidy stepped back, slowly raising her eyes to briefly meet his before lowering her gaze once more with an unwittingly weak smile. "No. Why would it? After all, I'm just your pet." She laughed slightly. "I'm an inferior species, aren't I?" She shrugged. "We don't have complex emotions or basic intelligence at all, apparently."

Michael began to reply to what she had said but suddenly stopped, silent for a moment. He growled slightly. "I must leave. I am being summoned away by Angel Ariel."

"Angel Ariel?"

"The Head Angel in this Tribe," Michael explained. "If I am fully repaired, I am going to take my leave now. Close your eyes, human."

Both thankful for the freedom and shockingly a trifle disappointed that he was leaving, Cassidy sighed, following his orders.  
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she heard Michael's voice right at her ear, his voice and proximity causing her to shudder.

"A lack of basic intelligence aside, your dry wit was always something that entertained me. Now, stay where you are and I will return to you later…"

When she opened her eyes again, the first sight to greet Cassidy was that of the familiar red rose lying in her lap.  
And Michael was gone.

She simply sat there, staring at the flower in a kind of numb disbelief and slowly reflecting on the night that had just passed.  
She replayed every event, every word and every touch as precisely as a scene from a film.  
Again and again and again.  
Through the hoary, opaque window shade, Cassidy could see the pale glow of sunrise but despite the knowledge that she had spent the entire night awake- she was in no mind to sleep.

Slowly, she stood up and walked to the head of the bed, sitting down against the wall with the rose clasped in her hands.  
She ran her fingers over the petals, watching as a single tear fell from her eyes and splashed down over the crimson, velvet folds.

For a moment that night, Michael had not seemed like a monster.  
In fact, for a moment he had almost seemed human and in that moment, Cassidy found herself hating him a lot less than before.  
Was she genuinely seeing a side to her captor that she had yet to discover?

Or was this all some new kind of psychological torture?

More tears soon joined the first lonely bead of silver and it wasn't long before she was sobbing hysterically. It frightened her to realise but she was laughing too: laughing almost wildly as tears poured down her face.  
She lifted a fist and pounded it against the wall, unsure whether the ragged, half-choked noises that gurgled in her throat were strangled whimpers or strangled giggles.

"Cass? Cass, is that you?"  
She heard Stan's hoarse, bleary whisper from the other room and coughed, desperately trying to silence herself. "S-Sorry Stan…I didn't mean to wake you…"

"That don't matter to me, kid," he whispered in return, his voice heavy with concern. "What's the matter with you? Did that stone son of a bitch come in to your room again? What did he do to you, Cass? Awh, Hell if he's hurt you again. I swear to God, I'll…"

"N-No…No, Stan, it's alright…he….," Cassidy began to choke out, her eyes suddenly sliding down to the rose in her hands when she felt a sharp pain against her palms. Another hysterical chuckle escaped her lips and she shook her head. "He…just left me a rose…"

"He just… left you a rose? Then why are you crying, Cass?"

"I…I just realised," she told him, thumbing the petals. "This rose is so beautiful…it's all that I imagined it would be…it's all that I want…it's perfect…b-but…its thorns keep hurting me…no matter how h-hard I try…they'll always keep hurting me…"

"…so maybe just let go of the rose?"

"I…I really wish I could…but letting go isn't an option for me right now…I think the thorns are in too deep, Stan…I think they're in far too deep…"

* * *

Michael entered the half-blackened hotel ballroom, instantly feeling a thousand angry gazes immediately lock on to him.  
He approached the centre of the room, walking as casually and as slowly as he desired. Angel Ariel hadn't bothered to send a messenger for him this time; she had simply screeched for him. He knew what the impromptu meeting was regarding and in no way wanted to give any of the other Angels any indication that he might be intimidated.  
In the dark he could see Kyrie's shattered remains lying in a ceremonial heap at the base of the podium where Ariel stood, presiding over the chamber of Angels.

"Well," he thought, mentally sighing. "I suppose I never thought that she was sending for me to present me with an award."

Ariel's voice was shaking with fury as she addressed him.  
"Wanderer, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded to know, growling and gesturing to the mutilated body at her feet.

"Hello to you too, Angel Ariel." Without a hint of décor or reverence, Michael approached what was left of Kyrie, gave them a quick glance and looked back to the fuming Head Angel. "This is state is known as "death." It is when the living years of a being have expired or been terminated, reducing the once living creature to a pile of ash, dust, bones et cetera…"

"Wanderer!" Ariel shrieked, quickly becoming feral. "You _murdered_ one of my Tribe without appropriate cause! One of my own gene pool! Give me one good reason why I should not lead the rest of my Tribe in tearing you limb from limb!"

Michael smirked. "One of your own gene pool? What was she? A niece? A cousin? A daughter?" He gave a low, sardonic chortle. "And if you really want to play this game, Ariel, I would firstly like to point out that none of your Angels here could successfully take me down. Not individually and certainly not as a group either. My might surpasses all of your combined strength and you know it." He paused, taking a moment to let his message sink in before continuing, speaking just as calmly and mirthfully. "And secondly, Kyrie's death was not "without cause." She attempted to murder my human. I had warned her about approaching the human without my permission and even after my threats, she persisted in tormenting Cassidy."

"Witnessing Angels say that your _Cassidy_ was in breach of our rules. She was attempting to leave the feeding grounds after sun-down," Ariel informed him, snarling and baring her teeth. "The human's death would have been justified."  
She approached him in the dark, flexing her wings.

"She was with me at the time. I was taking her out for a night-time walk and I had instructed her to go down to the lobby ahead of me whilst I procured some tools that she required for my repair." Michael could feel Ariel's close proximity to him but did not move from where he stood, only folding his arms. "When I reached the lobby area myself, Kyrie had cornered Cassidy, intent on destroying her. What I did was in protection of my property."

"As always, _Wanderer_," Ariel hissed. "Your stories are dubious. I don't suppose that there are any witnesses who could verify your tale?"

"None," Michael responded, uncaring. "But only because there were no other Angels on patrol. It would appear that Kyrie had dismissed every other Angel from night-time sentry duty in order to confront Cassidy…" He grinned down at Ariel, making sure that she could _hear_ the grin as he spoke. "Gracious me. She went against your orders and sent at least nineteen Angels from their duties to dishonour my wishes out of spite. It's a wonder that _she_ is not the one being put to trial here…"

Angel Ariel gave a low, seething hiss- the product of an almighty roar of anger that was just barely swallowed back into her throat. "Do not speak ill of our fallen sister." She took a step closer to him in the darkness, so that her wings were lightly gracing his. "You speak with the audacity of an Alpha Male when in actual fact you are nothing more than an exiled straggler who depends on our charity."  
Michael frowned when her voice suddenly morphed into a seductive purr. "That said. I am impressed with your tenacity. You _do_ have all the makings of an excellent Alpha Male and fortunately for you…" She slowly lifted a hand to place upon his chest. "Such a position is readily in your reach."

The Weeping Archangel rolled his eyes once more.  
Merely hours after the death of one of her own gene pool, Ariel had sunk so far into sexual depravity that she was already flirting with Kyrie's murderer: offering herself to him as a mate once again.  
It was a clear testimony to the greed and callousness of his species.  
Ariel's rage did not concern Kyrie's death; merely Michael's act of taking their law into his own hands.  
Now she was presenting herself to him.  
And he was far from interested.

"I know very well what you are offering me, Ariel," he said firmly, grabbing her wrist and pushing her hand away. "However, my answer is the same as it has always been: no, thank you."

Ariel scowled and a sharp grating growl told Michael that her fangs were extended. She whipped around, turning away from him and pacing the floor as an uneasy murmur ran around the circle of Angels.

"You know, Wanderer," she sneered. "I _do_ recall Kyrie and a few of my other seraphs mentioning something about your behaviour around that human. It has become increasingly _odd_. You spend an awful lot of time attending to its comforts and this was an issue that we have addressed before, has it not?"

Michael raised a slow eyebrow, unfolding his arms and giving a soft warning growl. "That human _obeys_ me. I do not "attend to her comforts.""

"He holds and caresses her as though she was a cherub!" an angel from the group shouted out.

"He has also allowed her to touch his wings!" another joined in.

The murmurings grew in volume, snarls and hisses providing a fitting underscore for the accusations.

"He is growing far too attached to the human!"

"Kyrie was right. The human should be killed instantly for the sake of this Tribe!"

"No other Angel has ever been so attached to a single human."

"He truly desires it as a mate!"

"To protect the honour and purity of our race, we must slaughter the human!"

"We must do it now! Kill the human!"

"_SILENCE!"_ Michael let out an earth-shaking roar, his voice rebounding and echoing throughout the ballroom, shaking the crystals of the chandelier above their heads, rattling the glass of the curtain-draped windows and sending a tremor through the tiled floor. Instantly, every Weeping Angel in the room was silent.

"Now listen to me," he continued, baring his teeth and snarling. He was addressing the entire room but concentrated his speech in the direction that Angel Ariel stood in. "That human is nothing but a _toy_ to me. Her mental and emotional turmoil provides me with ample entertainment. Nothing more than that. I have _trained_ that human to attend to my every wish." He paused for a moment, considering what would need to be done to convince the Angels. "In fact, perhaps a demonstration is in order?"

There was a thick silence, filled with the ache of angry tension but Angel Ariel broke it with a rather intrigued note in her voice.  
"We're listening, Wanderer."

"Do you all still intend on having the usual "tournament", tomorrow night?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Well, consider this. I will bring my human along to it as a "guest of honour" of sorts and treat her to a night with her superiors. Then you will see how well trained and obedient she is. I shall show you al exactly how I've taught her to bend over backwards for me and perhaps even make her part of your little _show_." Michael gave a dark chuckle. "No doubt it's time to show her how any rebellious human in the building is properly treated…"

Angel Ariel was quiet for a moment, seemingly sorely unconvinced but wavering on the point of accepting his offer.

"Additionally," Michael added. "I shall deliver the child that I promised tomorrow night. I will give you the infant immediately following the tournament. It would be fulfilling my term of our contract earlier than I intended but consider it a gift of good will…"

"Very well, Wanderer," Ariel conceded, turning to face him once more. "You will be given this chance to redeem your reputation. You are also dismissed for now…"

Michael gave a short genuflection and turned to leave.

"Oh, Wanderer?"

He stopped in his tracks.

"Yes?"

"Disappoint us tomorrow night and I do not care how many of my seraphs you think you can destroy single-handedly. I will have you eliminated from my Tribe. Is that clear?"

Michael ran his tongue over one of his fangs, continuing to leave the room and growling back at her as he did. "It will not be a problem. You will not be disappointed by what you see tomorrow night."

* * *

"So then my parents came into money again and they decided to move the whole family back to the farm in North Carolina. I was thrilled, sure, but going to school in New York gave me this wonderful accent." Stan gave a wheezy chuckle. "Mom wasn't so thrilled but Pops was tickled pink. He said that whenever he talked to me, I made him remember all our crazy nights out in Brooklyn…"

Cassidy smiled faintly, giving a weak sigh of laughter. "I like your accent too. It's really nice to listen to and you remind me of a character from a cartoon that I used to watch."

"Was he a handsome country devil with a Brooklyn edge too?"  
She laughed outright, realising for the first time that she hadn't genuinely laughed at something funny in quite a long time. "The latter, perhaps." Her laughter quickly subsided when she looked up from her lap to see Michael standing in the room once more. "He's here, Stan…"

He was standing at the foot of the bed, his huge arms at his sides and his eyes slightly narrowed- watching her every move.

Her fellow prisoner of the Angels swore under his breath and thumped a fist against the wall. "Damn it, Cass. He'd better not hurt you in any way or I swear to the Lord, I'll…"

"_Stan." _Cassidy rapped her knuckles against the wall, starting to stand up.  
Thankfully, her friend said nothing more in response. Earlier, she had begged him not to provoke Michael and to avoid talking while he was in the room.  
"I don't want him hurting you again," Cassidy had told him firmly. "And even if you don't care for your own being, he's a lot more violent with me when he's angry too. He uses you as leverage to force my obedience…"  
Cassidy hadn't really been thinking about her own well-being as much as Stan's but as she had predicted, after hearing this, the American had agreed to keep quiet while Michael was in the room with her.

The archaeologist stood up fully, fumbling for the necklace in her pocket and quickly fastening it around her neck as she approached the living statue.

"You choose to honour our covenant," Michael observed. "That is good."

Cassidy nodded, coming to stand in front of him. "Yes…how is your chest feeling?"  
Her rapid heartbeat still caused her voice to sound breathless and wavering but little by little she was starting to speak to Michael with more confidence.

"It never caused me much pain," the Lonely Assassin responded with little concern. "But your repair-work has proved satisfactory, human."

"Uh, that's good to hear, I guess," Cassidy replied, keeping her eyes focused on the plastered cracks in front of her.

"Why do you still speak to that other human?" Michael asked her. His tone was unruffled but a small note of warning crept into his voice as he continued. "I am aware that you humans require social contact and the art of conversation to preserve your sanity but now _I _can speak and thus can satiate your need. Yet you persist in talking to the human male." The Weeping Archangel gave a low growl. "Are you keeping _secrets _with him from me?"

"No!" Cassidy insisted, wishing to slake his inexplicable envy as swiftly as possible. "Nothing that we talk about is secret at all."

"What _do_ you talk about then, little female?" he questioned. At her next blink, he leaned forward, surveying her features closely.

Cassidy lowered her gaze from his staring grey eyes and instead chose to look at his lips. "We…we just tell each other stories."

"Stories? What kind of stories?"  
"Stories about our lives. Anecdotes. I sometimes tell Stan myths and legends that I've learned. It's nothing sec-…"

"Myths and legend?" Michael cut across her. "I have not heard a good story of legend since I was a cherub. I wish for you to tell me one of these stories."  
Cassidy couldn't help but blink in disbelief and when she did, the Angel had grabbed her by the arm. "Ok…ok!" she stammered. "I know quite a few legends though. What kind of legend would you like to hear?"  
At her next nervous blink, Michael had moved to stand behind her, still holding her arm and pinning it to her back. "Which legend have you most recently told the human in the next room?"

Cassidy racked her brain, trying to wriggle her arm from his vice-like grip but failing.  
"…uh…the myth of Hades and Persephone…"

"Well then," the Angel decided, free to move as he was now out of her direct line of sight. "I wish to hear that one." He sank down, sitting on to the bed behind himself and quickly pulled Cassidy to sit upon his lap. One hand entangled in her hair, forcing her to continue looking straight ahead and his free arm wrapped around her torso, restraining her and keeping her back tight against his chest.

"_Relax,"_ Cassidy told herself, closing her eyes. _"He just wants to hear a story and if I don't move and keep in line, he'll leave me alone soon."  
_

"Alright," she said aloud. "This is the story of Hades and Persephone then. It's a Greek myth…meaning it was written by humans who lived in a place called Greece…" Michael said nothing, apparently intent on listening to her and encouraged by this, Cassidy continued. "Long ago, Greece was ruled by many gods and one of these gods was Demeter- the goddess of the harvest. Demeter had a beautiful daughter called Persephone and she loved her so much that she never wanted to let her go. She proclaimed that she would never allow any man to marry Persephone and that she would never allow her daughter to fall in love." She swallowed against her dry throat as Michael's hand slowly came to stroke her hair, rather than wrenching her with it. "But one day while Persephone was out playing in a meadow, she was spotted by Hades- the god of the dead and the Underworld. Hades fell deeply in love with Persephone but knew that Demeter would never agree to give him her hand in marriage. So Hades waited until Persephone was alone and kidnapped her. He took her away from her home and down into his dark, Hellish kingdom of the dead…"

Cassidy went on with the story, telling it as she would to a group of children at the museum and only pausing to take a breath. Michael remained silent for the entire myth, continuing to stroke her hair. Every now and then, one of his fingers would graze the side of Cassidy's temple or delve into the delicate crevices where her jaw met her neck and instantly, pulses of heat would pass through her in rhythmic waves.  
Every time his cool skin connected with her own warm flesh, a frightening yet excited tightness formed in her chest- the likes of which she had never felt before.  
It wasn't a very long story but by the time Cassidy reached the ending, she felt as though she had been sitting with him for hours.

"…and because she had eaten the six pomegranate seeds, Zeus decreed that Persephone would spend six months of every year with her husband, Hades, in the Underworld and six months of each year with her mother, Demeter, in the surface world. For the six months that she was away, Demeter would always grow upset and allow the world to fall prey to snow and ice but would rejoice when Persephone returned, making things grow again. That was how humans long ago would explain the phenomenon of the seasons."  
Cassidy waited with baited breath for Michael to speak, closing her eyes and letting out a long exhale.

There was a short silence and then the Angel laughed.  
But it wasn't the harsh, cruel cackle or mocking, sneering laugh that Cassidy was used to. It was a deep, melodic, rumbling ripple of laughter.

"You humans have the strangest of legends. Alas, they are entertaining."  
He lifted her from his lap as easily as a doll but when she attempted to stand, he seized her shoulder and pulled her backwards so that they lay upon the bed together. "Close your eyes whilst we speak. I wish to move freely."  
Cassidy shocked herself with the speed at which she complied with his request, resting back against the soft sheets of the bed. She winced a little, feeling him move across the mattress beside her so that he was leaning over her. It was when his hand connected with her cheek that something motivated her to suddenly start to speak.

"Lots of Greek myths are strange. What did you find so strange about this one?"  
"The role of the fruit, I suppose," the Angel replied, stroking her cheek as he spoke. "Why in all the galaxy should a being's diet dictate how long it should remain in a certain area? And designating specific food to the dead of one's kind? Ridiculous."

Cassidy couldn't help but laugh, hearing her once fierce and frightening Angel speak like such a sceptical teenager. "Yes, I guess it is all pretty stupid. It isn't supposed to be realistic though." She felt one of his feathery wings brush against her arm, giving an involuntary sigh at the feeling.  
"And this Persephone character," Michael criticised. "Why would she eat the seeds, knowing that it was supposedly forbidden to eat anything in the Underworld? Why make such a foolish decision?"  
Cassidy shrugged, absent-mindedly lifting a hand to brush her fingers against Michael's feathers once more. She felt his wing jerk a little under her touch but upon receiving no verbal complaint, she continued. "She was in love with Hades. People do stupid things when they're in love."

Michael gave a cynical-sounding snort of laughter before pausing in his petting of her and saying in a completely different tone: "Human, do you believe that this myth of yours is, in fact, a romantic story?"  
Cassidy thought for a moment and then nodded. "I…I've always thought of it that way. Yes."  
"So you would agree that Hades' gesture of abducting Persephone and taking her away with him was one that was _romantic_?"

She coughed, her stomach clenching when she realised what the Angel was trying to insinuate. She shook her head, turning her face to the side and pressing it into the blankets. "Well, h-his reasoning excuses his actions," she insisted. "Hades w-was in love…in love with Persephone. He…He took her to the Underworld to make her his Queen...and you…you…" Cassidy's voice trailed off as the Angel suddenly took a hold of her face and turned her head to look up at him once more. Though every fibre of her being screamed at her to open her eyes, she resisted the temptation.  
Or was she giving into another temptation?

She felt Michael lean in closer to her, the tip of his nose just about brushing against hers.  
"You know, human. I never did properly thank you for freeing me from the forest," he murmured, his thumb running down the side of her cheek. "I will find a fitting gift to give you to display my _immense_ gratitude." She could feel his hair, spilling down over his broad shoulders and lightly licking the sides of her face. "The gift could be even more _lavish_ if you would consent to stop talking to that "Stan" of yours and to talk only to me…"

Cassidy felt as though her face was on fire but she somehow managed to speak calmly. "Why don't you like that I'm talking to Stan? I've already told you that we don't keep any secrets from you."

She heard a low growl come from Michael's throat and he squeezed her face a little tighter. "You are far too naïve to realise this, little human but I believe that you talking companion seeks for you to be his mate."

Cassidy tried to shake her head. "No, no, no…Stan and I are just friends. There's nothing like that between us. Why would you care anyway?"

"I have not given you my _permission_ to mate and you will not receive it nor will he receive _you_. I wish for my human to remain _unspoiled_."

An uncomfortable feeling was growing inside of Cassidy's stomach.

"Why would you even think that Stan was moving in on me anyway? All we ever do is talk and we never see each other."

"On the first day that you set eyes on him, you saved his life by giving him your life years. You pressed your mouth to his, I saw it."

"…gave him my life years? I performed CPR. Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation? I was breathing into his mouth to send air to his lungs and pressing his chest to stimulate his heartbeat. I was performing first aid. I wasn't showing him any kind of affection…"

Michael was silent for a moment but gradually he released her face, instead stroking her forehead and lowering one of his wings around her once more. "C-P-R…How odd. Humans require an enormous amount of upkeep for such a lowly species. And yet, you are certain that you are not a medic?"

Cassidy smiled at his constant curiosity about her. "Yes. I'm certain that I'm not a medic. I just know a few tricks because my mother…" Her smile dropped a little. "My mother was always very sick when I was growing up. I had to learn to do all of that at a very young age."

"I imagine that your skills made you of great benefit to your Tribe, Cassidy."

Her eyes snapped open when he said her name and instantly, Michael turned to stone beside her. His hand upon her face was now cold and hard and the wings that once graced her arm were of hard rock than of soft feathers.  
But it was his face that she was staring into and that drew all of her attention.

She stared up into his sightless stone eyes with a mixture of fear, reverence and wonder.  
These were the eyes that she had always wished to see, back when she was working on Michael at the museum and now her wish had come true.

Cassidy was expecting some kind of punishment for opening her eyes but all that her captor said was: "Why do you stare at me in such a manner?"  
Daring herself to be brave, Cassidy lifted a shaking hand to touch his face, cradling the cold marble-like rock in her hand. "N-no…no reason…I just…I…you…are so handsome…" She smiled faintly, not taking her eyes off of his. "I can't really take…take back anything that I said on the day that I first found you. You are flawless…_Ah_!"

She had completely forgotten what the doctor had told her about looking in to the eyes of a Weeping Angel.  
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" she whimpered, a searing, hot pain shooting through her temples. She groaned, feeling the most horrific of all headaches start to pound in her skull. She twisted and writhed beneath Michael, turning into the duvet. He was saying something to her now but she could not hear him. She was deaf to all but her own pain.  
Cassidy opened her eyes, feeling tears rushing to them but as she began to cry, an awful itching, gritty sensation spread through her eyelids.

"Wh-what the-?"  
She lifted a hand to her eyes and then screamed as _gravel_ started to pour forth from both of her eyes.  
Thick, sandy, grey gravel- filled with crushed rocks and flinty sand, spilling across the white sheets.  
Amidst her panic, Michael reached forward, pressing his hand over her eyes to close them and holding her with his free arm. "Do not move!" he hissed into her ear. "Do not move, keep your eyes closed and cease your struggling. I shall aid you."  
Despite the great pain behind her forehead and the burning sensation in her eyes, Cassidy did as she was told.

Michael roughly turned her head back to face him and Cassidy felt something cold and wet run across one of her eyelids.  
Again.  
And again.  
And again.

He was _licking_ her eyelid.  
She squealed with discomfort, struggling to resist the urge to push him away and to end the uncomfortable sensation- but then her pain began to ebb away.  
Soon her head and eyes no longer hurt her and Cassidy could breathe normally once more. She had no idea what had just happened to her but she did not want to let it happen ever again.

When the pain had cleared completely, she realised that Michael was holding her against his chest, running his hand down the back of her head. It was only when she lay completely still against him that he lifted her away from him and placed her down on the bed.

"Has your pain left you, human?"

"Y-yes…I don't know what you did…but thank y-you…wh-what was that?"

"Another one of the natural defence mechanisms of my kind. You were fortunate to have my charity at your disposal. You almost went the way of your dark haired friend…"

"My dark haired friend? Who do you…?"  
Cassidy stopped speaking. She knew _exactly_ who Michael meant.

Her eyes opened once more and she glowered up at the Angel beside her. A new kind of burning had begun behind her eyes and once ignited, it spread throughout her body. She stood up, quivering from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes but this time, it was not with fear.  
It was anger.  
Pure, undiluted anger.

"It was _you_," she said through gritted teeth, her voice coated with malice as a new, horrible realisation suddenly dawned upon her. "It was you who killed her. You killed Louisa!"

The Angel was unable to look up at her, quantum locked where he sat on the bed but his response was as infuriatingly cool and calm as ever. "Of course I did. She was a direct threat to my claiming of you."

Vomit rising in her throat and blood pounding in her ears, Cassidy stormed away from him, raking her hands through her hair. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before! How could I have been so stupid?!"

She turned to see that Michael was now standing behind her, his arms folded and his face nonchalant. "Now, now," he said. "It is not your fault that you are overreacting to this. Console yourself with the thought that her life was worthless and meaningless. I simply exterminated her to further my needs- as is my right as a higher being. There are millions of humans just like her on this planet. One of them will fulfil her role at your place of work. No harm done."

"Shut the fuck up!" Cassidy shouted at him. "Just shut up! You bastard! You _murderer_! You don't understand _anything_! You're not a "higher being", you're a self-obsessed psychopath!"

"_How __**dare**__ you take that tone when speaking to me, you little ingrate!?"_ Michael growled.

Rage extinguished any fear that Cassidy once had and it wasn't long before she was shouting at the Angel at the top of her lungs.  
"I will speak to you however I please! You have no right to order me around! Especially not after what you did to my best friend! Not after what you've done to me!"

Cassidy blinked and Michael was only a footstep away from her, his teeth fully bared, his claws protruding and his face morphed into a familiarly terrifying beastly form.  
But she wasn't prepared to shy away from him this time.

"Close your eyes and sit down this instant, you soft-headed little brat! I have done nothing but enrich your life from the moment that I took involvement in it!"  
"How was_ murdering_ my best friend, enriching my life exactly?!"  
"She was getting in your way! Diverting your attention from me! I had to intervene for both your sake and mine!"  
"You are unbelievable!" Cassidy screamed, fire rushing through her veins. "This was never about me! You accuse me of being part of an ignorant race but all you ever think about is yourself, your own needs and your own gain!"

Michael was silent but at her next blink, an eerie smirk was on his fanged lips and a sadistic chuckle came forth from the living statue.  
"Perhaps that is true. I cannot deny that I did take _some_ satisfaction from watching your friend die. Killing her was rather fun."

Cassidy stood still, shocked and shaken to her core and still trembling with anger, she hissed between her teeth.  
"_You unimaginable bastard. I wish I'd never set eyes on you." _

At her next blink, Michael was no longer smiling.

"Were you not the one who _asked_ me to take you away from that place? You professed your love for me, you confided in me, you _kissed _me….!"

"When I was _drunk_! Do you not understand what "drunk" means? I wasn't in my right mind! Fucking fitting considering that I'd have to be crazy to even consider being in love with you!"

"Ha! Pathetic little human is trying to deny her obvious affections for me!"

"_Ha! _Ignorant Angel thinks that I'd actually ever have feelings for a s_tatue_!"

"Idiotic human forgets her declaration that I was the only man for her."

"Stupid Angel doesn't understand sarcasm!" Cassidy let out a shriek, closing her eyes tight and grabbing her head as a thousand emotions rushed through her. "I could never ever love you! I hate you! I hate what you've done to me! Do whatever you want to me! Beat me! Starve me! Take everything from me! But remember this! You're nothing but a cowardly, selfish monster, you don't own me and I will _**never belong to you!" **_

It was then that Michael seized Cassidy by the throat.  
He held her with both hands wrapped firmly around her pale, slender neck. The diamonds pressed into the soft flesh, adding further pain to the unrelenting pressure on her windpipe.  
Harshly and quickly, he lifted her from the ground by her neck- strangling her in mid-air.

Unable to breathe, her lungs slowly collapsing and her brain being starved of oxygen, Cassidy frantically clawed at the huge hands around her neck. She kicked and flailed, silent screams escaping her mouth as spittle ran down the sides of her reddened face. Her eyes were wide and staring but all she could see were flashing colours.  
Blues.  
Reds.  
Whites.  
And finally complete blackness.

Michael dropped her to the floor and she fell limply upon the carpet with a painful thud. Air flooded back into her body, replenishing her burning lungs and encouraging her murmuring heart once more. She coughed weakly, unable to move as her vision slowly cleared.

Michael stood over her, unseen to her and expressionless at first.  
Then he smirked.

"The way the light leaves your eyes," he said, his voice as cold and hollow as ever. "It is rather beautiful."

And with that, he left her.

* * *

Clumps of Angels loitering in the hallways had heard their confrontation.  
They whispered scornfully and mockingly as Michael passed them, their eyes hidden but their gazes just as accusing.

"_That human screams at him as though she is his master." _

"_He has no control over her whatsoever." _

"_Why did he not kill her?" _

"_Why would any Angel take such verbal abuse from a mere human?"_

"_How pathetic he is." _

Michael ignored them all, storming past each cluster of gossiping Angels without bothering to cover his eyes.  
He could care less about etiquette at that moment in time.  
The only thing on his mind was Cassidy Albright.

He had originally only intended to make a mockery of her in front of the other Angels.  
Now he was going to make her suffer.  
He was going to make her suffer as she had never suffered before.

And whether she wanted to or not, Cassidy _would _be his.  
She would be _only_ his.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought of it!  
**

**My sister has done some amazing fanart of Michael and it's sooo interesting for me to see how someone who's read the fic envisions him! Check it out at this link but be sure to take out the spaces first! (If the link doesn't work, try googling Mephilesthecute09 and the pictures will be in her gallery on deviantArt)  
**

** mephilesthecute09. deviantart art / Doctor-Who-Weeping-Angel-OC- 382148949 **

** mephilesthecute09 . deviantart art / Doctor-Who-OC-Angry-Michael- 382207905**

**She's a really awesome artist so be sure to check out the rest of her gallery if you love cartoon randomness. **

**Thanks again for reading! :D  
**


	13. XIII

**Thanks a whole bunch for the reviews, favourites and follows!  
I'd especially like to thank any Guest who has reviewed, particularly Guilleber, Free Bird, Rascal and "Impatient Guest" (loving the name :-P). I like to write a thank you note to everyone who reviews personally but obviously I can't write direct ones to Guests so this is me saying a big THANK YOU or as we say in Ireland: GO RAIBH MAITH AGAT to all the Guests who have read and reviewed. **

* * *

Though the harsh sharpness of physical pain and the punitive bluntness of emotional turmoil racked her body, Cassidy Albright eventually succumbed to slumber.  
Part of her was too shocked to sleep but at the same time, she was far too weak to fight slumber's call.  
In the harsh heat of day, she closed her eyes and slept upon the carpet.

It wasn't long before her troubled mind made the transition from the world of reality to the recesses of her dreams.

She was in the cave again, the spiralling roof above her and the cold, wet floor below. For once, there was no murmuring, whispers or cryptic messages being hissed into her ear. There was only silence.  
She looked around, waiting for something.  
Waiting for anything.  
Waiting for the voices to start.  
Waiting for the Angels to come.  
Waiting for _him_.

But it was not a Lonely Assassin that emerged from the darkness that surrounded her.  
She was stunned when out of the blackness, appeared a thin, waif-like young woman. She was trembling like a flame balancing on the wick of a candle in the breeze- threatening to expire at any moment. Her pale blonde hair fell over her bare shoulders in thin vines and her eyes were wide, hollow and staring, darkened by the clouds of sleepless nights and days governed by fear.

Cassidy reached out to offer aid to the shivering wraith and for a moment, the girl seemed to accept her outstretched hand. But when their fingertips met, all Cassidy felt was a cold, glossy pane of glass.

It was then that she realised that she was looking into a mirror.

For a few seconds, Cassidy trailed her fingers down the smooth surface of the mirror, looking at her own reflection in disbelief.

Suddenly a loud, sinister laugh rumbled from somewhere deep within the cave.  
It echoed from the ceiling to the floor, heralding the coming of something wicked.

Her heart racing, Cassidy immediately tried to run, only to find that she was unable to move her legs. She was chained to the ground, wrought-iron rings around her ankles- weighted and holding her to the spot.  
Shackled.  
She swallowed, frantically pulling at her bonds, trying to free herself from the stone ground.

"_H-Help!"_ she called out in vain. _"Help me! Somebody! Anybody!"_

All of a sudden, she lost all feeling in her right foot and it was rendered paralysed.  
Cassidy looked down at her foot, attempting to move it but finding that it was heavy and immobile.  
The same cold numbness travelled up along her right ankle, shin, knee thigh and soon her left leg was overtaken by the horrific feeling. Soon she was completely unable to move from the waist down.

"_What-? What's happening to me?" _

Cassidy's eyes darted towards the mirror and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.  
What the archaeologist saw in her reflection terrified beyond her anything that she had ever seen before.

Her legs had turned completely grey.  
But it was not simply a change in the hue of her flesh but the texture had also changed- the curves in her kneecaps becoming more pronounced and her calves looking almost smooth to touch.

She was turning to _stone._

"_N-No…"_

The cold, damp air of the cave choked and caught in Cassidy's throat as she struggled to breathe- completely unable to scream. With frightening haste, the paralysis ran up through her entire body, until soon her entire torso was rigid.  
The grey colour spread like a venomous infection beneath her skin, following the numbness and transforming her shoulders, her arms, her wrists, her hands, her fingers…

"_No! No! No! Oh God, no!" _

The stone feeling was quickly spreading across her collar-bone and up her throat.  
Unable to move as she was being transformed into a statue, Cassidy was completely helpless. She could do nothing but watch her reflection's eyes dart and widen in panic as her body was slowly overtaken.

Just as the stone reached her chin, she saw Michael emerge from the darkness, standing behind the mirror.  
His mouth was stretched in an evil grin- open in silent laughter as he watched her.

"_You're doing this somehow, aren't you?! Stop it! Stop it now! No!" _

But little by little, the stone overtook her, fully transforming her.  
Spreading up to her face.  
Taking her mouth.  
Her nose.  
Her eyes.

"_Help me. Somebody! Please help me." _

And all the while, she was forced to watch herself being turned to stone as Michael stood there, in silent laughter.

"_Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me…" _

Then from somewhere in the depths of the cave, she heard a man's voice. It was a familiar voice, taking on a soothing note as it spoke to her.  
"Don't worry, Cassidy Albright. I'll be there soon and I'll take you away from him. Just hang on…

….just hang on."

Seconds later, her eyes bloodshot and her throat still aching, Cassidy awoke. Clapping her hands to her face and ascertaining that she was of flesh and blood once more, a single, choked-out word escaped her lips.

"_Doctor?"  
_

* * *

"Welcome to Los Angeles, California! Bit too far back to meet Catherine Zeta Jones but all the same, a very nice place," the doctor announced, stepping out of the TARDIS and looking around. "Oh bugger it!" he added with a disappointed sigh as he ran to the end of the alley in which the TARDIS had been parked. "I was hoping to have been caught in a spot where we could see the Hollywood sign."

Edmund stumbled out of the dark blue threshold, clutching the wood for a moment and doubling over slightly.  
"Ah! Finally! It feels so good to be back on solid ground!" he panted breathily, putting a hand to his head. "I don't care what either of you say. I am _never_ going to get used to that. _Ever._"

"Oh, man up a little," Clara chided, nudging him in the shoulder but smiling all the while. "You've just travelled over eighty years into the past and all you can do is complain about some silly travel sickness?"

The archaeologist's eyes widened and as if he had only just realised that fact for himself, he slowly straightened up. Edmund walked over to the doctor, his mouth slightly agape as he stared out of the alley and on to the street.

The warm air was pervaded by the sounds of a busy city, crawling with slickers, slashers, starlets and superheroes, that time had long forgotten.

The huge towering buildings were alive with excitement and teeming with the drama of the lives of the quirky residents, good, honest workers and the scheming underbelly of Los Angeles. Movie posters, adorned with the faces of the great stars of old, wallpapered every street corner and massive advertising billboards acted as backdrops to the impressive skyline.

Palm trees stretched out of the pavement from far behind the buildings, swaying in the breeze which carried the shouts, swears and shrieks of the city's inhabitants.

Motorcars honked and spluttered sooty clouds as they powered down the streets in sparsely spread lines. Men in pinstripe suits and women with dandelion-clock hair hurried up and down the footpaths- totally absorbed in the lifestyles that they had built for themselves.

Most of them didn't even look up as the Time Lord and his two human sidekicks slowly shuffled out of the alley.  
"It's really…," Edmund managed to stutter, his eyes darting to every corner of the scene before him. "We really have…I mean…we're …this is…" He took in a long breath, clapping a hand to his head. "Good _God_."

The doctor slapped Edmund across the back for the seventh time that day. "Very well put, Eddie, my man. Very well put indeed."  
"We've travelled back in time!" he blurted out, proceeding to rush over to the nearest building with eyes like ping-pong balls. "This building...this building was erected only this year and I could be one of the very first people to touch it! It looks like a dentist's now but what is it used for in the future? Does it even still exist in the Hollywood of the future?!"

The doctor turned to Clara, letting the archaeologist continue his rambles.  
"So then, that worked, thankfully." He grabbed a newspaper, resting atop a nearby newspaper dispenser, checking the date. "And it would appear that we've arrived right on schedule."  
"Good," Clara nodded, before throwing a glance back at Edmund. "Is he…is he going to be alright? He seems a bit delirious."

"I could be breathing the same air as Al Capone right now!" the young man announced, practically gyrating on the edge of the redbrick building.

"I wouldn't worry. Don't you remember your first time-travel?" the doctor said with a bemused chuckle. "Besides, _history junkies_…what are you going to do with them?" His smile fading as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, the doctor sighed. "However, we really have no time to gawk at the sights." He grabbed Edmund by the collar of his jacket and without a hint of remorse, pulled him into earshot of he and Clara's huddle. "Because we're not _here_ to gawk at the sights. We're here to find Cassidy and to take her home."

"R-Right, yeah. Of course," Edmund centred himself, managing to tear his eyes away from the 1920s City of Los Angeles for a few seconds. "We have to find Cassidy." His eyes widened as though he had only just remembered what exactly they were there for. "We've got to find her! We've got to-!"

"Yes we do!" Clara hissed placing a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "And keep your voice down a little." She looked around. "We're starting to get a few funny looks from people."

"'Course we are," the doctor said absent-mindedly, flicking his screwdriver around- entirely unaware of how strange he looked. "Look at the way you two are dressed. This is before the era of trainers…and skirts above the knee…" Ignoring Clara's sudden self-conscious preening, the doctor looked up. "Hmph. No immediate time signatures. We're going to have to work from the ground up to find the Angels' base of operations."

"Base of operations?" repeated Edmund quizzically. "Ok, what exactly are we looking for here? What kind of building?"  
"I've dealt with them before in New York," the doctor informed them both. "They're attracted to hubs of human interaction…big cities…places where people can go missing and nobody will notice. In 1930s New York, they had commandeered an entire set of apartment blocks. They'll need a place where they can keep a lot of people under control but fully alive…"

"Have you got any idea where that place could be? You must have been to this Los Angeles before," Clara questioned.  
The doctor clicked his tongue. "Admittedly I have been here before and I have my suspicions but now is not the time for guesswork. For Cassidy's sake, we need to be precise." He took a breath and put his hands on his hips. "Right then, we need to start talking to locals."

"And ask them about moving angel statues?" Edmund stated sceptically. "Don't you think that's going to sound just a little bit crazy?"

"Everyone's a little bit crazy, Eddie," the doctor replied coolly. "And we're not going to ask them about the Angels outright. Just ask about local rumours surrounding statues. Los Angeles is a big place but someone will have noticed _something_ and an urban myth will have grown up around the area where the Angels are…"

"So we need to head to places where people meet and chat casually?" Clara observed, looking around. "As it appears no one is just going to stop for a chat on the street. Maybe we should look for a bar?"

"A bar?" the doctor said with a chuckle. "Oh no, Miss Oswald. There'll be no bars around here. We're in the middle of 1923! The Roaring Twenties! In the States!"

"The Prohibition Laws are still in place," Edmund explained in response to Clara's quizzical expression. "Alcohol is illegal at the moment almost all across the US." He looked to the doctor. "We need to find a Speakeasy. They were…_are_ usually hidden behind barber shops, book shops, dentists…They're secret."

"Oh Edmund," Clara smiled, quasi-admiringly. "You're quite the expert, aren't you?"  
Desperately fighting the spray of blush that was appearing on his cheeks, Edmund waved a hand to signal his tepid modesty. "There was an exhibit based around the Roaring Twenties in the museum a while ago."

The doctor tucked his screwdriver away. "Handy for us and right you are. We need to find ourselves a Speakeasy, then. Have you got any ideas about where we might be able to find one, Mr History?"

Edmund looked around, frowning slightly. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I know the _type_ of place where a Speakeasy usually is situated but I don't think I've studied any specific places in Los Angeles city…" His eyes fell upon a nearby Newsagent's. "We could also be arrested for asking about one. They're illegal above all things…" He exhaled, his brow furrowing. "But for Cass' sake, we'll need to ask a local."

"And we'll need to ask one quickly," the doctor murmured, anxiety briefly flickering across his features as he looked up at a nearby clock, mounted on to a streetlamp.

No sooner had the words escaped the doctor's lips, a young man in a fedora with a newspaper tucked under his arm had swaggered over to Clara.  
"Hiya toots. You new in town?" he smirked. "If you need a tour-guide, you're in luck. I can show you all the best sights in all of Hollywood, baby. And so much more…"

"Hi there!" the doctor immediately interjected, throwing his arm around Clara's shoulders and leaning forward so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the aspiring flirt. "How shrewd of you! Yes, _we_ are all new in town! Just across the pond for a lovely holiday! My two friends and I would actually _love_ it if you could show us around." He lowered his voice, putting on his very best "cool-guy" croon as he made a drinking gesture. "Especially a place where we could, y'know…get a little _buzzed? _Get _jazzed_? Get a little _pyjama-ed?" _

The disgruntled suitor's face turned from sour to confused but after raising a high eyebrow at all three of them, he spoke again. "Brits, huh? Well, if you guys are looking for some fun. You should try down at Louis Dawson's antique store. Head straight to the back-room and tell the guy that Pete the Fox sent you. Then he'll…"

Before "Pete the Fox" could say another word, an oily-faced, burly man came running past and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Petey! Awwh Hell, Petey! You gotta come see this! The cops are all swarmin' down the end of Main Street. I thought they were shootin' for another movie but there's been an actual murder! They've got the body sprawled out on the street and everything…"

Pete's eyes widened and he gave a low whistle before looking to the three time-travellers. "Sorry folks. I'm a journalist with the local paper so that's my cue to run." He winked at Clara, (prompting a rather protective squeeze from the doctor). "Maybe I'll catch you later then, cutie."

Clara wrinkled her nose, watching as the two men ran down the street, rounding the corner. "Some men and their methods…." She rolled her eyes. "Well, at least we have the name of one of those Speakeasys to go on, so-…."

"We have to follow him," the doctor said, staring after the two men and suddenly breaking into a run after them.  
Edmund slumped his shoulders in disbelief. "There he goes! Just running off again! Explaining nothing!"  
Clara sighed. "Yes, he tends to do that. Part of his charm. Come on, then."

The duo followed their self-elected leader and soon managed to catch up with him, breathing heavily.  
"So why are we running after Laurel and Hardy up there?" Edmund asked between pants, nodding at the gathering crowd ahead.

"The police are there!" the doctor shouted as he sprinted. "I need to ask them something! And this murder! I just have a strange feeling about it! Not a good feeling! Not a bad feeling! Just a strange one!"

They kept running until they reached the scattered crowd of whispering, chattering locals. Women were shielding children from the view, men were shaking their heads and journalists were pressed up against white lines of police tape.  
The doctor bounced up on tiptoe, trying desperately to get a view of the crime scene.  
"What do you mean _strange_?" Edmund panted, leaning forward on to his knees. "You know, you talk an awful lot but say very little."

Clara joined them, finger-combing her long chocolate-coloured hair and frowning up at the doctor, quoting only one word from his previous conversation. "_Pyjama-ed? _Really?"

The doctor waved a hand, still craning his neck and not bothering to look at either of them.  
"Oh come on. Basic rule of human language. All you need to do is turn any noun into a verb in the past tense and it instantly means "getting drunk." You should _know_ that. I need to get up front. You two, wait here."

Without another word, the doctor elbowed his way forward, slipping through the crowd and coming to awkwardly step over the police tape.

There were three police men talking, all of them clad in black shirts and frowning, looking perplexed. They occasionally threw a glance over to the body laying sprawled upon the ground, covered by a white sheet. Patches of bright red had seeped into the covering around where the figure's head should have been.

"…I don't know what to say. Mother of God, I think I'm going to be sick," one of the cops was saying. "I've never seen anything like it. The guy's back is split open, his head is cracked at the back like an egg and his brains have been scooped out with a melon-baller or something! His entire spine is completely fucked too…"  
"What weapon could have done _that_?"  
"This is almost identical to that other murder across the city…on the East side…"

"Hey there guys," the doctor chimed in, quickly flashing the psychic papers. "I'm Detective John Smith…I was sent by the head office. I just need to do a quick inspection of events. Could you give me a quick run-down on what's happened here?"

"Uhh, yeah, sure," one of the officers stammered. "Well, we got the call about a body in the middle of the cul-de-sac at about midday. We've never seen anything like it. The victim is male and in his early thirties. We haven't managed to identify him either…but it's gonna be pretty hard to…his head's been…torn open…so has his torso…I'm no coroner but I reckon his brain has just been ripped out and I…"

The doctor held up a hand to halt the flustered policeman, smiling in a friendly way, despite the sudden sinking in his chest. "Good work, officer. Really good work. I think I get the picture. Now, you were saying there was another murder like this one?"

"Yeah, Inspector Smith," another of the cops nodded. "Emily Baxter. A local florist's daughter. She had been missing for a few days and her body was found in an alley on the East Side just about a week ago. Her…her, uh, brain was pulled out too…"

"I see," the doctor said with a weak nod, looking towards the sheet-covered body and swallowing. "May I…?"

"Go ahead, Inspector," the third of the officers said. "If you think you've the stomach for it. It's pretty grim."

Well used to anything that human law enforcers could consider "grim", the doctor walked ahead, approaching the body gingerly.  
He carefully crouched down and took a hold of a corner of the blanket, lifting it and peering under.

His face contorted with a mixture of disgust and morbid realisation and his breath became quick and heavy. He quickly dropped the sheet and after swiftly running his screwdriver along the sides of the body, the doctor stood up. He briskly walked back to the police-tape line, his eyes straight ahead and his lips twitching.  
Clara and Edmund had managed to force their way to the front of the crowd and were abreast the tape, waiting for him.

"What is it?" asked Clara, noticing the doctor's worried expression. "What's happened?"

"He's talking to her," the doctor said.

"_What?"  
_"The Angel is talking to her," the doctor repeated, his eyebrows knitting further. "He needed a way to verbally communicate with her and he found a way of doing it. He's taken that human's brain-stem. This situation has escalated far further than I thought it had."

He looked to his two companions for the first time, stepping out over the line and wringing his hands as he spoke. "Usually Angels don't bother with talking unless it's absolutely necessary. His _obsession_ with her has grown to the point where he needs verbal commands to control her. Physical control isn't enough for him anymore…"

"But what does that mean for Cass?" Edmund demanded to know. "For _us?_"

The doctor looked to Edmund, his expression serious and sombre as ever. "It means that we need to get to Louis Dawson's Speakeasy as soon as possible."

It was only after Edmund Potter started to walk ahead of them as they hurried down the sidewalk, (following the directions of a portly and rather endearing cigarette girl), that Clara turned to the doctor. "You didn't answer me before. What do you know about Cassidy that you're not saying? What's going to happen to her? You need to tell Edmund and I. It could be important to her rescue…"

"Clara, know that I trust you and your fantastic judgement beyond anything else right now," the doctor replied. "But whether or not I tell you, won't make a difference." He swallowed, watching Edmund round the corner and punch the air in triumph as he located the antique shop. "There are some things that just aren't worth knowing. Just understand that we can _save_ her. That's what's important right now…"

Clara Oswald frowned deeply but after a few seconds, nodded, taking a breath. "We'd better remember to tell this man that "Pete the Fox" sent us, then…"

* * *

The waiting was the worst part.  
She had been waiting for him to make an appearance all day but so far, he hadn't come.

From the moment that she had opened her bloodshot eyes, her body slick with sweat and her wits frayed to their end, she had been waiting for Michael to come into her room and torment her in ways unimaginable.

He had almost choked her to death the night before, hadn't he?

She lay on the bed, every inch of her tinged with fearful anticipation.  
Her back was pressed against the mattress, her limbs strewn limply across the bed and her torso completely inflexible. Like a child's doll.  
Nerves pulsed through her and her eyes darted back and forth from the window to the door.

Any second now that murderous creature of stone would steal silently into her room- more than likely with the intention of finishing the deed that he had almost committed only hours ago.

Or maybe he hadn't shown up yet, she considered, forcing herself to sit up, because he really was intent on starving her death this time.  
Perhaps he really _had_ abandoned her completely, having decided that she was too much work to take care of.

"Alright then," Cassidy whispered under her breath. "Starve me until I'm skin and bone and let me rot here. I don't care. I'd rather die here alone with my body slowly eating itself from the inside than live under your rule again…"

However, the taste of food last night had broken the seal of bile in her stomach, restarted her appetite once again and thus she was afflicted with agonizing hunger pains.

She wrapped an arm around her abdomen, groaning and shaking her head. "Distract yourself, distract yourself, distract yourself…"

Tired of carving pictures into the skirting board, Cassidy went prying around the bureau and bedside drawers again.  
Stuffed into one of the back of the drawers, she found a leather-bound bible and an old stationary notepad, printed with the logo of "The Summer Bank Hotel." The pages were slightly faded and marred- most likely from damp and heat damage- but the pen tucked into the spine still had some ink in it.

She had always like writing letters and despite the knowledge that she would never get to send them, Cassidy sat crosslegged upon her bed and began to write.

The pen pressed awkwardly into the page, smearing a little as the soft surface beneath gave way to the pressure applied to the nib but too engrossed in each word that she wrote, the prisoner of the Angels didn't care.  
The letters didn't really have a structure or a purpose- they were simply her thoughts and emotions spilled directly out on to a page through the medium of ink.

Her first letter was to Leon.

**Dear Leon,  
If I ever see you again, I don't want things to be awkward between us. I don't mean to be harsh but I don't really have feelings for you anymore and strangely, I don't think I really ever did.  
Maybe it was just because you're a nice guy, I wanted someone and you happened to be there.  
Just writing to clarify that there are no hard feelings about the night of the presentation. I made the unfair assumption that it was you sending me the roses and I do realise that I put you on the spot.  
It was rather childish of me and for the record, I think that Shauna looks absolutely lovely. I hope that you are both very, very happy and have a long and awesome relationship.**

Best wishes,

**Cassidy **

Her second letter was to the Doctor. The man who had promised to save her.

**Dear Doctor,**

**I forgot to ask: what is your real name?  
Are you even a real person?  
Are you coming to save me? Have you forgotten all about me?  
I think I heard your voice in my dream last night. Is that it? Did I dream you up?  
Or are you just some crazy, time-travelling man in a blue police box who likes to give people false hope of rescue?  
Somehow, I don't think you're that callous. We spoke very little and in awful circumstances but you seem very nice. **

**I hope something horrible hasn't happened to you.  
Please come and find me soon.  
I don't think I can last much longer.**

**Yours sincerely,  
Cassidy Albright**

She also wrote one to Dr Hewitt.

**Doctor Hewitt, **

**I'm aware that this is terribly informal but where the hell are you? You've been missing for months. I really wish that you were back at the museum with me. So much has happened since you left. I had to do the presentation alone but everything went smoothly.  
I found out something terrible about the Angel statue but maybe you know all about it already. Maybe he got to you already. When this entire drama with Michael started, maybe you would have believed me.  
After all, you believed in me before when no one else would. You made me your apprentice even when the board told you that I was too inexperienced.  
Thank you so much for that.  
Wherever you are right now, I hope you're happy. **

**Your faithful student,  
Cassidy Albright. **

She tore another sheet of notepaper and wrote her next letter to Edmund.

**Dear Ed, **

**I'm about to say something that I rarely ever got to say when we worked together at the museum: I was right and you were wrong.  
The Angel statue was alive and he kidnapped me. In response to the question that I kind of hope that you're asking right now, I'm in a hotel somewhere and sometime far, far away The Angel took me here.  
I know if you were with me right now, you'd be hurling all kinds of logic and rationality at me right now- telling me to calm the heck down and to get a hold of myself.  
I never told you this but as annoying as you could get, I love how level-headed you always managed to stay under any kind of pressure.  
I also never thought I'd miss arguing with you. **

**While we're confessing, I guess I have always been a little jealous of your experience and your knowledge. Despite that, I consider you to be one of my greatest friends.  
**

**And no hard feelings if you want to take up my work at the museum since I probably won't be getting back there any time soon.  
You'll finally get the spotlight that you've always wanted and always deserved. **

**Good luck in the future,  
Cass **

She paused before starting her next letter, taking a moment of reflection before putting pen to paper.

**Dear Mum**,

**I love you.  
I love you so, so much.  
You are the best Mum that anyone could ever ask for. You always did your very, very best to give me everything that I needed.**

**I know that sometimes you got worried that you were more of a burden than a mother to me because you were always so sick but that's just not true. I never minded looking after you because it was a way that I could show you how grateful I was for having such an amazing mummy.**

**You always supported me in everything. When I told you that I wanted to be an archaeologist, you taped every episode of Time Team for me and took me to the museum every weekend.**

**And it isn't your fault that my Dad left. You were right. We are better off without him and I've never resented the fact that I grew up with no daddy. You'll always be worth a hundred daddies to me. And I loved celebrating Mother's Day on Father's Day too. I got to have two Mother's Days every year. Two excuses to make you breakfast in bed, to draw your favourite flowers on to a card and to spend the entire day with you! What more could I have asked for?**

**I really wish that I could be with you right now. Not just because I want to be there for you but because I really want you to come and hug me right now the way you always used to when I was afraid.  
I'm scared, mummy. A bad man has taken me away and I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I want to wake up and to find out that this is all a nightmare so that I can out of bed, come into your room, get into bed with you and fall asleep feeling safe beside you. Just like when I was a little girl.**

**I really hope you're alright.  
Love you forever,  
Cassy  
Xxxxx **

Wiping tears from her eyes, Cassidy went on writing.

**Dear Louisa, **

**I'm so, so sorry.  
Words alone will never describe how sorry I am.  
If it wasn't for me bringing that statue to the Museum, you'd still be alive right now and so many other people might be still alive, happy and in London too.  
You are my best friend in the whole world. You were the first person to talk to me when I first came to work at the museum, you were my wingwoman on every night out and no matter what kind of stupid idea or scheme I had, you were always there to talk me out of it or to laugh about it with me afterwards.  
I miss you so much right now.  
Everybody misses you but in the past few days I've realised just how valuable a friend can be.**

**I feel like it's my fault that you're gone and the only way that I can console myself is to think that even though I'm in Hell right now, you're in Heaven watching over me.  
Maybe I'll see you someday soon.**

**Lots of love, **

**Cass  
Xxxx**

Her teardrops were now dotting the page, smearing the ink and blurring her vision as she wrote what she thought would be her final letter.

**Hey Abbie, **

**I hope you're doing alright, princess!  
I hope you're still going to Lil'Diggers Club and I hope you still come to work with your brother as often as possible. There's a new exhibit coming to the museum soon that has lots of dinosaurs in it. Be sure to take lots and lots of photos of them for your scrap book!  
I think you'll make a great historian someday! **

**People will be saying a lot of weird things at the museum but don't believe any of it. I'm doing fine. I've just had to go away for a while. **

**I hope to see you soon and when I do, I hope you're still interested in history!  
The museum needs more fun, creative people like you! Make sure to tell your brother that. I'm positive that he'll agree with me. **

**Stay wonderful. I've always wanted a little sister just like you.**

**Love,  
Cassy  
**

Cassidy wiped the tears from her face, her shoulders shuddering.  
She delicately packed her letters into a small bundle and pressed her lips to the creased paper folds before tucking them under her pillow.

A thought suddenly occurred to her as she was putting the notepad away and sitting back up on to the bed, she wrote one last letter.

**Dear Michael, **

**That's not even your real name but that's how I'll always know you.  
I've never you called you by it to your face.  
Just in my dreams and whenever I've thought of you.  
And back at the museum.**

**I wish I could go back to then.  
When you really were the only man in my life who ever listened to me and I could still feel so safe, just standing with you and talking to you.**

**Mum always used to say that Angels were sent by God to watch over us and to take care of us.  
I don't know whether you really understand this or not but what you've been doing to me is neither. **

**There was a crazy moment when you held me and you laughed and I could feel the laughter ripple out of your throat when I really believed that if I opened my eyes, I'd see a real human man. Sometimes when you touch me and your skin presses against mine, I feel like there are no boundaries between us  
There are times when I think about you and it takes all my self-control not to admit that maybe I still care about you.  
There are times when you frighten me so much and make me so angry that I wish that you could die in the most horrible way possible and were out of my life forever.  
**

**Then there are times when I wonder what my life would be like if I had never met you at all.  
**

**Sometimes you're a monster.  
Sometimes you're a murderer.  
Sometimes you're a fiend.  
Sometimes you're charming.  
Sometimes you're a mystery.  
Sometimes you really are just like a human man.  
I can say all these things aloud and not feel a thing. **

**But as I've said before, I really can't deny that you're always the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen before.  
And admitting that single fact kills me. **

**Your prisoner,  
Cassidy. **

That letter joined the others beneath her pillow.

Tears were now falling freely from her eyes, despite the fact that she no longer felt the need to cry.  
Moving slowly across the mangled sheets, she stood up, walking over to the bathroom door and shedding her clothes as she went.

Her ritualistic cleansing- her daily ablution- was all that she wanted right now.  
As the fabric was peeled from her sore, slick skin, Cassidy felt a familiar mixture of both vulnerability and liberation.

She twisted the faucet and without even waiting for the water to adopt a bearable temperature, she stepped under the shower.

Cassidy did not flinch when the water was icy cold nor cry out when the water was boiling hot. She stood beneath the pulsating jet, steadfast and waiting for the sporadic temperature changes to subside as her skin was scalded and shocked by the cold in erratic measures.

After her routine of shaving, scrubbing and washing, she simply rested beneath the shower head- her forehead pressed against the cool, glossy tiles.

She let the water spill down her face in thin, veins, passing through her hair like vines, clinging to her eyelashes in silvery beads and pooling at her collar bone before travelling down her body and ending its journey by disappearing into the gurgling drain.

She wished for every emotion inside of her to wash away with it.  
Every drop of anxiety, fear, anger and sorrow to be cleansed from her and to vanish forever down the silver drain.

Groping for a towel, Cassidy turned off the shower and stepped back out on to the tiles of the bathroom floor. She dabbed herself dry and started to re-dress, the uneasy feeling in her stomach returning with the realisation that Michael still hadn't come calling for her that day.

She looked up at the mirror- the glass steam-coated with the hoary breath of condensation. Cassidy frowned with disdain, looking at her blurry reflection. She could see no fine details of her face and body but alas, she did not need to; she could see perfectly well the damage that had been done.

Her skin was frighteningly pale in the places where it had not suffered severe sunburns and as such was tinged a patchy, puce colour. Her eyes looked like two gaping, smoky black-holes, surrounded by greyish blue insomniac clouds. Her entire body was also wan and reedy- impossibly thinner than it had been when she had first arrived.  
All of that, combined with the specks of white on her fingernails and the bruises and deep cuts that marred her- served as a testimony to the prisonerhood that she had endured.

"Look at what he's done to you," she whispered under her breath. "Look what he's fucking done to you…"

She imagined her reflection smiling cruelly behind the blurry haze on the glass.  
_"Don't pretend that you didn't love every second of it." _

"Love it? Are you crazy?" Cassidy hissed at her dark-eyed reflection. "Do you think that I like being starved and beaten and imprisoned?"

"_You love all of the attention that he lavishes on you. This is your dream come true. Your angel has come to life…"_

"And he's slowly killing me."

"_But he's not trying to kill you, is he? He just gets angry at you because he wants you all to himself. He's almost imprinted on you." _

"Don't say that. He hasn't "imprinted" on me. He wants me as his _pet._ His slave."

"_Oooh, kinky, isn't it? Come on, Cassy. You secretly want to believe that he's doing all of this because he's fallen madly in love with you." _

"Stop it! Stop talking to me! I don't want him to be _in love_ with me! He's an _alien_, he's a _monster…_"

"_A sexy alien and a monster who wants nothing more than to spoil you. You heard the way he was talking to you. You remember what Stan said about men who bring presents to girls. Hey, our lovely Michael even said that he'd bring you more gifts and be super nice to you if you just acted like a good girl and stopped talking to Stan…"_

"I'm not going to give in to that demon's pressures and bullying. He's a heartless, soulless bastard."

"_Whom you depend on." _

"That's not true."

"_Deny everything, Cassy but you know what I'm saying is true. It's so romantic, isn't it? The way he's stolen you away for himself…"_

"And all the people who he's hurt, maimed and probably _killed_ just to get near me? All of the people who died because of his obsession with me? Louisa? Is that all "so romantic"?"

"_He only got rid of anyone he saw as coming between you and him. The poor darling was just jealous. He doesn't even seem to understand what he did was wrong. All he wants is you and would gladly remove anyone whom he sees as competition for your attention…" _

"He's a psychopath! That doesn't excuse _anything_ he's done!"

"_Oh Cassy. It's like your very own Greek myth. He's like Hades and you're his Persephone. Or you're his Psyche and he could be your dashing Eros…He certainly has a better appreciation for Greek legends than Leon." _

"Stop it! You don't know what you're talking about! You don't know me! You're not me!"

"_Oh, but I AM you, Cassy. Admit it! Resign to the truth! This is your greatest wish come true! You love every second of what he's done to you and if you had a lot more brains and a little less heart, you'd just let him do whatever else he wants to you, tell everyone at home in England to sod off and happily spend the rest of your life in the arms of your stone prince charming!" _

"Now listen, you ignorant freak! Just fucking listen to me!" Cassidy shouted into the mirror. "You're wrong! I don't care about him at all! He's a murderer and nothing more than a selfish beast! I never wanted this to happen and right now, the only reason I'd be upset if he never came back to see me again is because I'd be stuck here! I don't want him! I don't love him! And I will never give into him! Never!" She reached forward and started to frantically wipe the surface of the mirror, wiping at the foggy, sneering reflection's face until only her own frantic visage was visible. "Never. Never. Never. Never…"

She continued to murmur the same half-crazed mantra even after she had eradicated her malicious, lustful doppelganger, opening the bathroom door.  
"Never. Never. Nev-…"

Michael was standing right outside the bathroom door, staring down at her with a fanged smirk and his wings spread- casting a shadow over her and almost barring the threshold.  
"Never _what_, Cassidy, my darling?" He gave a low, mirthful chuckle. "In the case of most species, talking to oneself is considered an early sign of insanity. Oh dear."

Him saying her real name had once filled her with warmth- now it filled her with nothing but sour malice.

Cassidy glowered up at the Weeping Angel and then avoided his eyes as she ducked under his wings, walking out into the bedroom.  
"I'd be shocked if I bloody well hadn't gone insane yet from being trapped here," she seethed, not even bothering to look back at him. "What do _you_ want?"

Quick as a flash, the Angel seized her wrist from behind, pulling her and forcing her to stand on the spot. He gave a mock gasp of surprise. "Such coarse language from such a fragile little female! Your terrible attitude aside, I could not agree more. I have been a terrible master thus far. Driving you to your wits end. It was of my mind that it due time that I took you out for a special night."

Cassidy froze, turning around slowly- apprehensive and wary in wake of his suddenly very amiable manner. "What…what are you talking about? You're going to take me out…outside?"

Michael was still looking down at her, still eerily smiling, his hulking wrapped firmly around her slender wrist.  
"Well, no. Not out of the hotel per se. I do, however, intend to give you a _very_ special night out of this room. The other Angels partake in a very entertaining event at this time every month and I have decided to attend the event myself. However, etiquette from this world dictates that I simply cannot go alone. I must have an escort."

Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head and feeling him release her, she stumbled backwards. "Wh-what? No…I'm not going to be your "escort" for some stupid party that the Angels are throwing…"

She was expecting him to lose his temper at this but "Oh, little trinket. You have upset me greatly and insulted my generosity. I even went to the bother of buying you something special to wear for the occasion…"

Confused, Cassidy looked around the room and for the first time, saw the large, square-shaped box resting atop the bed. Curiosity overcame her and she walked over to the box. "Something to wear?"  
An intricate logo printed in gold was emblazoned on the top of the box, proclaiming the name of some kind of designer but not one that Cassidy recognised.

Sitting down on the bed, she slowly opened the box and after a moment of looking at its contents, Cassidy's jaw dropped.

"You will accompany me tonight," Michael commanded coldly. "And you _will_ wear what I have brought you."

She closed the box quickly, her face hot and flushed and she shook her head.  
"I am _not _wearing that."

Cassidy was waiting for a shout, a growl, a fist…but surprisingly, Michael remained calm and collected as ever.  
"You _will_ wear it," he said smoothly. "And I think you will do it happily."

The human girl's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think that? What makes you think I'll do anything you say?" Cassidy shoved the box inside, her cheeks still flushed pink and her skin starting to crawl.

"You'll do everything that I ask tonight…and you'll do so happily," Michael simply repeated.

Cassidy took a deep breath, gritting her teeth as anger started to boil in her stomach. "You can beat me. You can break me. But I am not going to do _anything_ that you order me to do."

"Oh but I think you _will_," the statue insisted, his voice taking on a subtle note of threatening. "You see, I know my Cassidy often does not care for her own wellbeing but she cares greatly for the well-being of others…"

"And maybe I've decided that Stan is a fully grown man and can take care of himself?" Cassidy challenged, folding her arms.

"But maybe Stan is not the other life to which I am referring?" Michael chuckled with a growl. "He may be a fully grown human man but the poor little human in the room across the hallway is scarcely more than an infant…"

"What kind of pathetic, sick game are you trying to play?"

"Oh, I am not playing any kind of game with you, my little doll. I am _deadly_ serious. Go across the hall and knock on the door if you don't believe me…but I would not keep the little girl waiting. She is already quite anxious as it is. She has not stopped crying since I brought her here…how irritating…"

Cassidy's stomach started to feel incredibly uneasy.  
_No, it couldn't be. _

She got up off the bed and without giving a second look to the Angel, started to walk across the room, bound for the door.  
_No, he couldn't have. _

She left the room and traversed the corridor, going straight to the door on the opposite wall. Lifting a shaking fist to the door, she knocked.  
_Oh please God, let me be wrong. _

"H-hello? Is anybody there?"

"Cassy?! Cassy?! Is that Cassy?! He said Cassy would be here!"

Cassidy's blood ran cold.  
_"Abbie?!"  
_Her heart started to race and for the first time, she noticed the nameplate on the door .

Abbie Drake.  
There was no mistaking that voice.  
This was no bluff.  
Michael had kidnapped her.

"Yes, Abbie!" Cassidy answered, pounding against the wood and sliding downwards against the door. "Yes Abbie! It's me. It's Cassidy!"  
"Cassy!" the little girl cried. "Michael took me here! I don't know where I am! Can you please come in here?!"  
The sheer terror in the girl's voice made Cassidy's stomach churn. She tried to open the door but found it to be locked. "I…I'm sorry Abbie! I can't come in. The door is locked. B-But don't worry, sweetheart. You'll be alright. I'll make sure that you'll be alright!"

"There's an old lady in the room," Abbie told her, her voice warbling dangerously.  
"What?" Cassidy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Who's the old woman? Did you talk to her?"  
"She was lying in the bed," the frightened child went on. "She said that she was _me_."  
Remembering what Stan had told her on her very first night in the hotel, Cassidy swallowed. "Can you ask the old lady to come to the door, Abbie? I need to ask her something."

"She fell asleep!" Abbie said, now starting to cry. "Sh-she fell asleep a while ago and I…I tried to wake her up but she won't open h-her eyes or talk to me…! I'm scared, Cassy!"

Cassidy clapped both hands to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears and for a moment, she was unable to speak.

"Angels will come to remove the body tomorrow," a cold voice at Cassidy's back stated. "Hygiene will not be a concern. Do not worry."

Cassidy looked up at Michael, his cold smirk sending shudders through her.  
"You monster," she breathed. "You didn't have to bring her into this…"

"Unfortunately, the situation was far too perfect _not_ to take advantage of," the Lonely Assassin crooned, towering over her. "You see, the life years of human children are plentiful and provide ample nutrition. Because of this, your offspring are very, very valuable to my kind. Little "Abbie" here, will serve as the best kind of ransom to placate the other Angels here in this tribe…"

Abbie whacked her little fists against the door, setting the wood vibrating against Cassidy's cheek. "Cassy! Cassy! Please let me out! Please!"

Before Cassidy could say another word, Michael spoke over her.

"Her fate is in your hands, Cassidy Albright," the Angel declared. "The child is infinitely replaceable. Whether she lives in comfort or dies in pain is entirely up to you…"

A single tear ran down Cassidy's cheek and she slowly turned to the door, saying in the most gentle voice that she could muster.  
"Just w-wait right th-there, Abbie. I-I'll make s-sure that no one h-hurts you. Y-You'll be alright…I p-promise."

Satisfied that the little girl had calmed down, she turned back to Michael, standing up slowly and looking up into the face of the angel of stone. "I…I'll do whatever you want…"

The Angel gave a triumphant growl and as Cassidy walked back into the room, her eyes lowered, he smirked cruelly. "Good girl. Now, get dressed."

* * *

Elbowing his way back to the bar, a rather flush-faced Timelord sank into the seat beside his companion, leaning on the polished counter-top.

"Rough day, fella?" the sympathetic bartender asked. "What can I get ya? Double on the rocks?"  
"Just a nice glass of milk from a cow would be great right now. Ninth century farm-cow, if possible but I'm not too picky." He turned away from the rather confused-looking bartender and back to the brown-haired girl at his side.

"Any luck spreading rumours?" the doctor asked Clara, slightly shouting over the raucous noise of the Speakeasy. "Or have you managed to pick up any new information?"  
The huge dance-hall was populated by drinkers, gamblers, waiters and cigarette girls. Atop the stage that overlooked the dimly lit club were several glittering dancers, bouncing and kicking to the blaring swing music of the band in the pit.

Clara shook her head. "No. Not at all. You'd be surprised how quickly people are deterred when you start asking about alien Angel statues that move when you're not looking." She raised a bemused eyebrow. "Five different men _did_ offer to buy me drinks though."

The doctor coughed a little, quickly re-railing the topic once more. "We have to double our efforts. We're running out of time." He leaned on his hand, looking around. "Where's Eddie run off to?"

Clara rolled her eyes, pointing a finger over her shoulder.  
Looking in that direction, the doctor caught sight of Edmund, sitting at the table behind them. The poor young man was crushed against the bosom of a busty, peroxide blonde, much older woman and looking rather discontented with the seating arrangement, (and partly unable to breathe).

"He looks happy," the doctor commented offhandedly. "And…a little bit smushed."

"This one had better not be married," Clara sighed. "He almost got into a brawl with the last one's husband."

The doctor chuckled slightly before exhaling and dropping his chin against his palm. "You know, it's funny. Usually when I'm in another time, searching for someone, trying to save them from unspeakable danger…I'm usually the one who's after getting them in danger in the first place. Knowing that I'm not the one who actually put Cassidy Albright in harm's way is rather…."

"…nice?" Clara suggested.

"Nah, I wouldn't go as far as to say it's _nice_ but it's certainly…different…in a kind of…nice…way," the doctor said with a shrug, looking over his shoulder once more. "I don't suppose that Edmund's new girlfriend would know anything about the evil Angel statues?"

"Evil angel statues?" the bartender said, placing the doctor's glass of milk on the counter top in front of him. "Awh hell, have you two been talking to my ol' pal, Stanley?"

"No," Clara replied quickly, her eyes widening. "Why though? Does your friend Stanley know anything about the Angel statues?"

"Sure, honey," the bartender went on, lifting a glass up to clean. "He first came in here 'bout a year ago, shouting and roaring about a bunch of evil angel statues and time travel and all of this other garbage…Heck, the kid's either heavy into his drink, some scriptwriter who is way too into his work or an absolute nutcase…"

"Keep the change, my good man!" The doctor leapt to his feet, slapping a few dollars on to the counter. "Is Stanley here right now?"

The bartender nodded, grinning at the generous tip. "Yep. He's over there. The table over by the plants."

The doctor suddenly grabbed the bartender's hand and shook it vigorously. "Thanks a million!" He clapped a hand on to Clara's shoulder, stooping to hiss in her ear. "Grab Eddie away from his girlfriend. We're getting out of here."

Following the bartender's directions, it wasn't long before the doctor located the slim young man, sitting alone at a table with a glass of whiskey before him.  
"Mind if I join you?"

Stanley looked up, raising an eyebrow but shrugging. "Yeah, go ahead."

"I'm going to cut to the chase," the doctor told him, sitting down. "I'm told that you know a thing or two about a certain group of Angel statues."

Stanley grunted. "If you're here to mock me like everyone else…"

The doctor shook his head. "Not at all, Stanley. I know what you are." He leaned closer to the young man, lowering his voice. "I know that you're a prisoner of the Angels. I know that you're not from this time. They took you from your home, took you back in time and now they're holding you here against your will."

Stan's eyes widened and he bit his lip, his knuckles turning milky as his grip tightened around his glass. "How do you know-…? Who are-…?"

"I'm a time traveller too, Stanley," the doctor told him. "I'm a very old time traveller and I've dealt with the Weeping Angels before. I want to save you. I want to save every other person that they're holding but most of all, I _need_ to save a friend of mine. Her name is Cassidy Albright."

"Cassidy?!" Stan said suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "You know Cassidy?! Blonde British girl?"  
"That's exactly her, Stanley," the doctor went on. "Where have you seen her before?"

"Sh-she's being held by the Angels too. Her…her room is right next to mine!"  
"Where is she being held? Where is the room?"  
"The Summer Bank Hotel, south of main street and near the river."  
"Summer Bank, hm? Witty," The doctor frowned deeply. "They're trying to recreate Winter Quay…trying to establish a new big feeding ground…"  
"Wh-what are you talking about?"

The doctor waved his hand. "Nothing important. What's important is that I am going to save Cassidy and I am going to save you."  
Stan sighed, looking frustrated. "I've been to the cops already. They won't believe me and the ones that do are too damn scared to come anywhere near the hotel…"  
"Oh, we're not going to bring the police into this, Stanley," the doctor told him, standing up. "We're going to take the Angels down ourselves and with your help, we're going to do it tonight."

Stan stood up slowly, his eyebrows raising and his voice breathy. "Mother of God. You're a time-traveller who wants to save us…you're the doctor, aren't you?" A smile tugged at the sides of Stan's mouth. "Cassidy talked about you all the time. I thought that she might have made you up to make me feel better but _wow,_ Jesus J. Christ, you really do exist! Cassidy was right…she's going to be so happy!"

The doctor had been smiling but his expression became serious. "That's great, Stanley but time is of the essence. You need to take my friends and I with you to the Hotel right now. If we don't get there in time, something utterly horrible _will_ happen to Cassidy."

Stan's expression turned to a scowl. "I knew that dirty rotten bastard Angel couldn't be trusted. Come on, then, I'll take you to the Hotel…"  
The doctor waited for Clara and (a very red-faced) Edmund to join them before beckoning Stan to continue leading them up the steps and out of the Speakeasy.

"Hang on Cassidy," he murmured under his breath. "Just hang in there. We're almost there."

* * *

Reluctantly, the young woman took the box and walked into the bathroom to get dressed. The box contained a silk dress of fine quality. It was pearly white in colour and she noticed with disgust that it had the same kind of collar as the garment that the female Angels wore.

However, in stark contrast to the long, beautiful, graceful stolas that the Weeping Angels were clad in, the dress was about half the length and looked as though it would barely cover her rear.  
It was also made of a terribly flimsy material that was so sheer and so thin that it was almost see-through.

Cassidy was trembling all over as she put on the skimpy garment, feeling uncomfortably like a concubine being sold at a slave market.  
Her hair was still slightly damp, so using an elastic bobbin that had been in the pocket of her shorts, she secured it in a bun at the nape of her neck. The dress was near-transparent enough: she didn't want it getting wet.

She replaced her converse and socks with the plain white flat shoes that had been added to the box. There were also what appeared to be two black leather wristbands.

Unsure as to what they were for but fearful of what might happen to Abigail Drake if she refused to wear them, Cassidy carefully affixed them to her wrists. Finally, she took the diamond necklace from the bathroom cabinet, (where she had stuffed it in an angry rage) and delicately clasped it around her neck.

She had made the swift decision that it was a good idea to appease her captor at that moment in time.

She had always found the room to be airlessly hot and stuffy but as Cassidy stepped back into the bedroom with that hulking stone Angel leering at her with a fanged grin on his perfectly mask-like face, her skin had never felt colder.

She didn't know whether she was shaking out of fear, anger or that very same, strange coldness.  
He laughed outright at her shivering. "A trifle chilly, are you, little human?"

Cassidy refused to answer to his mockery, simply staring at his folded arms and slowly bringing her own arms to cross her chest.

"My, my, my," Michael's stolen voice dropped to a low, almost sensual purr. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? I had a feeling that such a garment would suit you and it _does_ compliment your frail little body."

She felt her face heat up and swallowed, staring at the Weeping Angel intently and silently praying for him to stop speaking to her in such ways. Her heart thumped uncomfortably beneath the thin silk; despite the fact that he appeared nothing more than a stone statue- she could feel his eyes travelling all over her.  
Scanning her.  
Examining her.  
Judging her.  
It made her feel sick to her stomach.

"In such fittingly grand attire and with that hair of yours pinned back," he went on in the same near-erogenous tone. "You could almost pass for one of my kind." He gave a dark chuckle. "You would make a truly lovely Angel, my pet."

Cassidy blinked in shock, a sudden scene from her dream the night before flashing before her eyes. She shook her head, looking downwards. "No. No, d-don't ever say that."

In the moment that it took her to blink, Michael had already darted forward and took her by both hands, forcing her to sit back on to the bed.  
"Now, now," he scolded her, his grip tight and bordering pain. "We shall have no more of that commanding language from _you_. It is time that you learned your place, human. Or will the infant have to pay for your foolish rudeness?"

Cassidy winced, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.  
"N-No. Don't hurt Abbie. I'll be good. I promise."

"And my Cassidy will be polite and cheerful tonight?" the Angel queried almost patronisingly.

All Cassidy could do was to swallow back her anger and nod.  
She had become his marionette puppet- completely helpless as he pulled her strings to his fancy.  
"Close your eyes," he ordered her and reluctantly, she obeyed.

He released her wrists and she felt something soft and cloth-like pass over her closed eyelids.  
_"I'm being blindfolded again_," Cassidy realised, biting the inner part of her mouth to prevent herself from crying out.

"Now stay completely still, little human."  
Free from her direct line of sight, Michael was liberated from his quantum-lock. He ran his fingers through the front of her hair line, tugging on some of the loose tendrils and pulling the stray wisps across her forehead.  
Cassidy shuddered, her teeth starting chatter but compliant as ever, she sat perfectly still.

His cold, clawed fingers drifted downwards, stroking her cheeks and running his knuckles down her neck.  
"Now listen very carefully to me," Michael told her, suddenly grabbing her lower jaw. "You must do _everything_ that I say, this evening. I am your master and you are my possession. You will speak to me with great respect. Is that clear?"

Cassidy nodded. "Yes."  
"Let me hear you say it, human. Say that I am your master."  
"…you are my master."  
The Angel smirked in the wake of his victory. "Such a good, obedient girl, you are. Now stay where you are."

For a brief moment, she felt Michael's hands leave her body and when he returned, he took both of her forearms. She felt him fumbling with the leather bracelets around her wrists and suddenly felt something weighted being attached to both of them.  
There was a hollow, half-metallic clanking sound and Cassidy felt a long, cold, jagged object brush against her legs.  
Chains.

He had her in shackles.  
He had her on a chain like an animal.

She felt the Archangel's breath on her face, realising that he had stooped down so that his face was level with hers.  
"There's my good, timid, docile, little Cassidy," he whispered, one of his hands coming to cup her cheek. His claws grazed her temple almost threateningly and though she could not tell if the action was deliberate or not, thankfully, they did not scratch into her flesh this time. "I am going to take you downstairs now. Remember that all of your actions tonight will have very definitive repercussions for the little human child."

She nodded, replying "Yes, master" though the words felt like acrid venom on her tongue.

His thumb delicately ran across her lips. "Such _music_ to my ears." His voice lowered. "I will allow no other Angel to harm you tonight provided that you obey my word. I will allow no one else to touch you." He ran his fingertips down her cheek once more, though Cassidy couldn't tell whether it felt tender or possessive. "Now stand."

Cassidy moved to stand, the chain drifted across her bare legs once again, clinking and dragging along the carpet.  
The Weeping Archangel suddenly pulled the chain taut, hauling her behind him and causing her to stumble.  
She walked blindly in his wake, feeling the texture of the floor change beneath her feet as she was dragged onto the coarse carpet of the hallway.

Devoid of her sense of sight, she could only clutch at the chain that bound her wrists and hinge her survival on her ears.  
At first, there was only silence but as Michael pulled her after him, she gradually became aware of faint rumble of some kind echoing from the floors above and below her- just managing to seep through the floorboards.

It took her a few moments to realise what she was listening to but as the tide of noise suddenly grew- it dawned upon her.  
Screams.  
What sounded like hundreds of people shouting, swearing and screaming.

"Pay no heed to their cries," Michael told her. "You will not meet the same fate as them tonight."  
Cassidy was about to quietly question what exactly the fate of the other humans would be, when her voice was instantly drowned out by the most terrifying sound that she had ever heard.

It was the most horrific, grating, inhuman shrieking that had ever met her ears before and it was coming from all around her, resounding on all sides.

She suddenly froze, bound to the spot by an intense fear. "Wh-what is _that_?"

"Oh, do not worry," Michael responded, suddenly tugging her so hard that she fell straight into his arms. He let out a chuckle, gripping her forearms and turning her to face him.

"The Angels are laughing at you."

* * *

**I've been quite busy lately so I am very sorry if this chapter is a little sub-standard!  
Thanks again for reading! I hope you've enjoyed! **


	14. XIV

**Thanks so much for all of the reviews, comments, critiques, follows and favourites!  
I really appreciate every single itty bitty indication that people have been reading this story and enjoying it. Seriously *tears up*…you guys make me so happy!  
**

**I hope you enjoy the following chapter.  
HOWEVER, THIS IS IMPORANT:  
I am obliged to mention that it contains some segments that are a**_** little**_** scarier and a **_**little**_** gorier than usual.  
There are also some scenes of a vaguely sexual nature towards the end of the chapter.  
I've checked extensively and there's nothing there that merits an "M" rating (yet) but I just feel better giving a warning in case there are those of you who would rather avoid those kinds of scenes.  
**

**Thanks a million again!  
Seriously hope that you enjoy!  
**

* * *

It was rather strange to her, all in all.  
"Mummy?" a seven-year-old Cassidy would have asked her mother. "What was your mummy like? Do you remember her much?"  
The woman smiled gently. "My mummy? I certainly do remember plenty of things about her. My _favourite_ things about her. She had the longest, prettiest golden hair. I used to love brushing it and playing Rapunzel- like we do. She had the softest hands in the whole world too…oh, and her _voice_! When she sang, it was like the laughter of angels…"

Cassidy had always thought that when something was described as sounding like "the laughter of angels", that the sound would be mellifluous, clear, beautiful and almost divine to the ear of the beholder.

"_The Angels are laughing at you."_

However, the sound that met her ears at that very moment was nothing close to "divine." If anything, the grating shrieks sounded like they were being dragged from the gates of Hell.

The Archangel dragged her forward, pulling her chains and letting the leather manacles do their work.  
Robbed of her sight, Cassidy was forced to blindly stumble after him, shaking with each step and chewing on her lower lip. Her palms were already slick with a cold sweat.

The other Weeping Angels continued to shriek with cold, cruel laughter.  
She did not know how many of them stood in the corridor around her but it sounded as though there were hundreds of them.  
Groups.  
Swarms.  
The horrible, screeching laughter echoed from the ceiling to the floor and left a stinging pulse in Cassidy's inner-ears. Every now and then she felt cold fingers graze her flesh- reaching out and grabbing at her dress, her hair, her skin.  
She flinched away from the hands that prodded her, wanting to cry out but managing to stifle her fear to mere, strangled whimpers.  
She silently vowed that she would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

She wanted to lift her hands to protect herself or at least to cover her ears but if she moved her arms in the slightest, Michael gave the chain a harsh tug, thus forcing her to keep her hands in front of her.

Every now and then, she would feel the sting of their claws, brushing past her like thorny brambles.  
The other Angels were now acting on their own apparent hatred of her, scratching at her in contempt.

However, it was then that Michael abruptly pulled her forwards.  
She tripped slightly, being forced into a run and suddenly being grabbed into his arms. His hands gripped her shoulders, twisting her around and pushing her forward. Shivers rippled along Cassidy's spine as her back was pressed uncomfortably against Michael's broad, partially bare chest.

He forced her to walk in front of him, his massive, hulking body craning over her almost protectively.  
She swallowed as she felt cold lips touch the warm, soft shell of her ear.

"_Walk in my shadow," _he hissed, his command direct and his breath icy as it skimmed her face. "I cannot directly deny the other Angels their amusement but as always, I wish for you to remain _unspoiled_."

Cassidy shivered but did not dare breathe a word.  
Although she couldn't remember being pulled in any direction but forwards, fear had disorientated her and at that moment, she had no idea where Michael was taking her.  
After a few more forcibly guided steps, she felt a swift rush of air in front of her face and a low, whirring that seemed to send a vibration through the floor in a steady rhythmic pulse.  
"The elevator," she thought. "I must be standing in front of the elevator."

Her guess was confirmed when she was suddenly shoved forward from the lower back. She stumbled on to hollow floor of the elevator and the metal carriage sagged with the weight of its two new occupants.  
As the elevator started to descend, Cassidy felt her once-beloved living statue's hands on her shoulders once more, the monster's fingers starting to trail downward to her forearms.

His palm suddenly pressed over the faded, still-aching ghosts of the bruises that he had given him before. His actions were suddenly more possessive than protective and Cassidy did not even begin to tease herself with the notion that he cared for her well-being.  
To him, she was clearly little more than a play-thing that he did not want anybody else to tarnish.

"You are doing well so far, little human," the Angel said coldly, hissing in her ear. "Just remember to follow my every order and the poor, vulnerable infant human will remain in one piece."  
Cassidy slowly nodded, sucking a deep breath in between her teeth.

She had never felt such a nauseating combination of hatred, terror and helplessness.

The elevator finally ground to a stop and it wasn't long before Michael was dragging her after him once more. He pulled her in his wake, dragging her left and right.  
Every now and then, her elbow would bump against the corner of a wall or she would trip over a fold in the carpet beneath her feet. At each display of blind clumsiness, her captor would let out a low, rumbling laugh accompanied by a cruel remark about the human race and their flaws.

After what felt like an eternity of walking in forced darkness, Michael suddenly pushed against her chest- roughly signalling for her to stop in place.  
"Remain here. Do not think of moving," he told her. "For if you do, I shall catch you. I shall tie you and then I shall force you to watch as I flay the infant with my claws. Do you understand?"  
Again, she only nodded.

She felt her metal tether fall slack upon the floor as Michael moved away.  
Cassidy wondered where she was.  
She was definitely still somewhere on the ground floor of the hotel but there were no tangible clues to tell her precisely where he had taken her, aside from the feel of the carpet beneath her feet.  
There was nothing in the way of auditory clues either.  
In the absence of the Angels' laughter and the terrible screaming from earlier, all that met her ears was a thick, heavy silence.

For a moment, as she strained to hear something- anything- Cassidy could have sworn that she could hear her own frightened heartbeat, frantically pounding in her chest.  
She suddenly became very aware of her own breathing; each ragged inhalation was both shaky and strangled.  
_"What is he going to do to me?" _

All too soon, the chain stretched once more, yanking her forwards.

Her feet left the soft carpet and were met by a hard, tiled floor. Each step echoed loudly as she went, indicating a room of colossal proportions.  
Cassidy's bit down hard on the inner part of her mouth, her fingernails digging into her palms and her knuckles slowly turning milky.

Although she could not see them, she could feel a hundred pairs of eyes upon her.  
The collective gaze of a scrutinizing crowd burning into her skin  
The spectre of a memory drifted through her mind: the night that she had given her speech on the night of Michael's official presentation.  
She had felt the audience's gaze on her on that night too but there was no way that the anxiety had been _this_ excruciating.

Suddenly the constant tugging on the chains ceased completely.

"Halt there," she heard Michael growl and instantly, Cassidy was rooted to the spot. She pressed her dry lips together, slowly bringing her bound hands to clasp in front of her chest.  
Afraid to breathe, she waited for something to happen to her.  
She waited for knuckles…claws…_teeth…_

"Welcome to the ballroom, Cassidy," Michael boomed, his deep voice resounding in the vastness of the room. "The Angels are delighted to finally receive a formal audience with you. You are standing where we all can see you right now. Is she not an _exemplar_ of her species, my sisters?"

Cassidy flinched at the sudden atrocious shriek of monstrous "laughter", accentuated by the baritone Michael's own pseudo-human chuckle.

"Well then!" the beast continued, his voice seeming to move as he spoke. "Why do you not properly greet your superior masters of house, dear Cassidy? Bow for your master."

The chained human girl hesitated for a moment, a cold sweat starting to surface in beads on her forehead before slowly and hesitantly complying with the order.  
She didn't feel particularly willing to expose the back of her neck to a vicious group of sociopathic statues but she feared the consequences of not complying.  
Assuming that the Angels were right in front of her, Cassidy bent at the waist in a quick but low bow.

"Do you not all see how well trained she is?" the Weeping Archangel mockingly proclaimed. "How do we all feel about another demonstration? Yes? Good. Cassidy? Kneel down."

A dog.  
He was forcing her to perform tricks like a dog.  
She swallowed back against her sorely dry throat, her eyes squeezing a little behind the folds of the blindfold as she gingerly kneeled upon the cold tiles.

"Such a good girl!" he praised mockingly, almost drowned out by a tide of the Angels' laughter. "Cassidy! You _do_ look so tristful and frightened. I order you to smile. Show just how happy you are to be here."

The delicate skin beneath her eyes twitching and spasming, Cassidy forced herself to smile widely.

_Smile even when you don't feel like it- you'll feel much better! _

Cassidy suddenly questioned the wisdom in that old saying.  
Clearly the great philosopher who had formulated that piece of advice had never been forced to perform humiliating little commands, chained at the wrists, barely dressed, blindfolded and in front of a crowd of murderous alien life-forms.

"Is my little Cassidy not even prettier when she is smiling?" Michael laughed, waiting for the frightening, grating laughter to subside before giving a new order. "Now that you are content, human, you may stand up once more. Come now, on your feet."

Without delay, Cassidy stood back up once more, her breathing becoming dangerously shallow.  
These trivial little dog-show tricks had to be accumulating towards something horrific.

"Now, do you not want to thank your superiors for allowing you stay here?" the Archangel questioned his captive.

She swallowed, opening her mouth but closing it again- unsure of how to respond.

"_Speak_. _Now_," he snarled sharply. "You have a tongue and vocal chords, do you not? Can you not demonstrate your command over them? Or would you prefer I tear them from your jaws to show that they are, in fact, in working order?"

"Th-thank you!" Cassidy half-shouted, stumbling over her words as fear slurred her speech. "Thank y-you f-for letting me stay here."

The Angels laughed again and Michael, himself, was still in the throes of mirth when he put the question to her: "Cassidy, Angel Ariel would like to know if you are enjoying your stay here?"

The human girl nodded quickly but found herself being barked at.  
"Speak, human!"

"Y-Yes! Yes! I am enjoying my stay h-here! It's…it's all really l-lovely…"

She swallowed back, desperately wanting to cover her ears in the wake of the Angels' terrible, mocking laughter.  
But before she could even attempt to move her hands, the chain at her feet suddenly pulled tight again, forcing her to run to Michael's side once more.

"There is a good, pleasant little human," the Archangel simpered, dragging her forwards until she forcibly crashed against him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to sit down on the cold, glossy floor. "There now. You may sit here at my side."

She felt Michael sink down into some kind of chair beside her.  
One of his large hands came to cup her cheek before pushing her head down to rest in his lap. The once-stone folds of his toga felt bizarrely soft against her face but Cassidy refused to let herself enjoy it.  
It wasn't that she could.

Her stomach hurt, her head was heavy and her limbs were aching.  
When he started to stroke her face, his knuckles brushing against her cheek and his clawed fingers combing through her hair, her heartbeat started to increase again.  
Her thoughts wandered upstairs, back to Abbie Drake.

What would become of the little girl?

Even if Michael _did _keep his word to her and didn't kill the child- Abbie was still trapped there in that hotel. How on earth would Cassidy ever manage to free her?  
So far, she had failed in every attempt to free herself.  
She could hardly play the role of heroine when she, herself, was still a victim.

"_That poor little girl wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for me," _Cassidy thought, tears prickling at the corners of her blind-sighted eyes. She sniffed. _"No. No crying. Not in front of these monsters. Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry…"_

Cassidy desperately started to console herself, taking a long, deep breath and trying to find something positive to cling on to.  
Positive thoughts had, long ago, become her single, safe harbour in the vicious storm of fear and pain in which she was now moored against her will.

"_At least she's here, where I can look after her. Her room is near mine and although we're both prisoners here, at least that gives me the opportunity to make sure nothing bad happens to her. Maybe if I'm good for this monster, he'll let me see her every day," _she thought. Cassidy turned her head against Michael's broad leg, allowing him more access to her face and neck. _"Stan can look after her during the day and take her out into the city to make sure that she gets fed well….or maybe the doctor really will come to save us both…maybe…"_

Cassidy was jerked from her thought process by the sound of human voices in the ballroom. She could hear shouts, cursing, sobbing and the same horrible screaming as before.  
She lifted her head slightly, seeking to know where the other humans in the room were, but Michael roughly pushed her head back down upon his leg.

"Stay where you are, little female," he snarled. "Their fate is of no concern to you."  
"I…I just want to know...who they are…," Cassidy told her captor slowly, choosing her words with great care. "Are they residents in this building…m-master?"

Her use of his self-given title seemed to appease him and after a few seconds, to her own surprise, she felt the blindfold loosen around her eyes. Michael removed the blindfold completely and instantly seized the back of her head, his hands entangling in her hair to ensure that she couldn't move her head.  
"Take a look at your surroundings, pet. I suppose it is only fair that I allow you to enjoy this event as much as I intend to."

For the first time, Cassidy could see where she had been taken.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust for the room was dark- only barely lit by a few flickering yellow lamps welded to the walls.

Without the dust and cobwebs of negligence, the ballroom would have been a magnificent sight to behold. The ceilings tapered up into a stunning dome, each panel lined by gold and adorned by a Renaissance-esque mural.  
There was a crystalline chandelier towards the back of the room, lying cracked and forgotten upon the black and white panel floors. A collection of circular tables, draped in white table cloths had been set up and pushed back against the far wall. Gilded chairs were scattered in the gaps between the tables.  
Michael, himself, was seated upon one of them, in the centre of all of the tables.

Cassidy's breath stilled in her throat when she saw the other Angels.  
There had to be just one hundred near-identical seraphs of stone standing and sitting in the room. Some of them were staring at her with their blank, sightless eyes and mixed expressions of blatant curiosity and intense revulsion.

However, despite the fading beauty and vastness of the dilapidated hotel ballroom and the fearsome gaze of the Angels, Cassidy's eyes were only locked on one thing.

Against one of the far walls of the room were a crowd of terrified looking people.  
The origin of the screaming.  
The people were of all ages- teenagers, elderly people, _children_.

They had all been backed against the wall and were being fenced in by a line of Weeping Angels, each poised with teeth and claws bared for an attack.

Cassidy's eyes widened, her hands starting quiver, causing her slackened chains to rattle against the ground.

"Wh-…what are they here for…master?"

With her head held forward, she could not see Michael as he lightly ran a cold finger down her neck.

"Just wait," he told her smoothly. "Our show is about to start."

* * *

The sun was setting- the huge amber orb now hanging limply against a cloudy vermillion sky and threatening to drop beneath the horizon line.  
Accompanied by his three latest partners in crime, the doctor was frantically running through the streets of 1920s Los Angeles.

Three blocks earlier, the Time Lord had decided to stop taking shouted directions from Stan and instead, insisted that the American run ahead and lead the pack instead  
(Something that Clara had pointed out would have sped them up immensely if they had decided to do it "seventeen streets ago!").

"So," Stan shouted over his shoulder. "You're all time travellers then?!"

"Technically but with different degrees!" the doctor hollered back, gesturing to the two heavily panting young people who currently flanked him. "I've been time hopping pretty much my entire life. Clara here has been my lovely assistant for the past year or so and Eddie is quite the newbie!"

"I only started this morning," Edmund added. "Can't say time-travel is living up to its fun and glamorous reputation yet."  
Clara shrugged. "Don't trust science-fiction movies!"

"Y'know, it's nothin' short of crazy!" Stan called out, matter-of-factly as he took another sharp left turn, (almost causing the entire group to slip into a sideways skid on the pavement). "One minute I'm in on a farm in North Cali! The next I'm standing on a street in Los Angeles, like thirty years before I was ever born and surrounded by-…"

"Stan, my man!" the doctor interjected, his knees in the air as he ran. "Not that I wouldn't love to have this conversation some time! With tea! Biscuits! Scones! And bananas! Lots of bananas! The whole job! But at the moment, we have higher priorities!" He grabbed him by the shoulder. "Can you tell me some things about the hotel we're headed to?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll tell you everything I can!" the prisoner responded, rounding another corners and slowing down slightly to ensure that he was still in earshot of the doctor. "What do you wanna know?"

"How many floors are there in the hotel?" the doctor questioned, his arms swinging at right angles.

"There are about ten, I'd say!" Stan replied. "At least ten is the highest floor that I've ever seen and the building's about ten stories from the front anyhow!"

"Ten? Ten. Alright, ten is doable. Is there any kind of stairwell on the outside of the building? Or a set of fire-escape stairs?"

"There's a few flights of serving stairs that run through the whole building…and the elevator…"

"Right, right. I see…what about Cassidy's room? You said that it's right next to yours? What floor are you both on?"

"The fourth," Stan answered, slowing down to a walk as they approached the final stretch before the water-front. "Almost there, now. Hey doctor, do you mind if I ask _you_ a question? Getting into the hotel is all well and good but how are we gonna take the Angels down? How do you plan on killing the Angels?"

"You cannot just "kill" an Angel in the conventional sense," the doctor explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We have to poison their feeding grounds."

"Ok, so how are we going to do that, exactly?" Edmund chimed in, jogging forwards and falling into step behind the doctor and Stan.

"I was getting to that! We have to create a paradox," the doctor went on. "A person can't die twice in one night. Therefore, if we remove a newly deceased individual from their continuous food chain, a paradox will be created and the feeding ground will be contaminated."

"So we're just going to _kill_ someone in order to further this plan?" Clara suddenly interrupted. "Am I permitted to question the morality of this scheme of yours, doctor?"

The doctor exhaled. "I told you, I've dealt with the Angels before. With this exact situation before, in fact. Provided that all goes to plan, the given individual will not die. If a paradox is created, the entire hotel will cease to exist and all of its residents will return to their individual time-streams as if they were never abducted. The Angels, however, will be poisoned by the disrupted food chain and starve themselves right out of existence…"

Edmund's eyes widened briefly and he groaned, massaging his temples. "Alright, considering my brain is boggled enough from this plan, I know I'm going to regret asking this but does that mean that Cassidy and I will go back to London in 2012 as if none of this living statue lark ever happened?"

The doctor frowned deeply, worry lines etched into his forehead as he sighed. "No, I'm afraid that your situation is a little bit more complicate and a lot more delicate than that. Cassidy's abductor will hopefully die in the paradox but regardless, you and Miss Albright will probably remember all of this for the rest of your lives…"

Before Edmund could ask another question, the doctor spoke again- this time, to Stan.  
"We need to locate someone who has died tonight. Their older self anyway. Any idea where we might find one?"

"The room opposite Cassidy's," Stan replied after a moment of thought. "It was cleared out when I left the hotel today and the door was ajar. Usually that means the Angels are gonna put somebody new in there. We could try that door."

The doctor nodded, muttering and speaking more to himself than anyone else. "…we get in, get our willing volunteer, get Cassidy, cause the paradox, get to the TARDIS, ship out and go home…simple, right? Simple in theory anyway…."

"This is it…here," Stan announced, gesturing forward and soon enough, the foursome came upon the towering Summer Bank Hotel. The young man came to a halt a few paces away from the hotel, the other three following suit.

The doctor looked up at the building, his eyes travelling from the front steps to the very highest point of the roof.  
"Round two," he murmured under his breath. "We may have just barely won last time but not this time…"

Clara looked at him sideways, her eyebrows arching slightly with worry.  
She knew that the doctor had a similar experience with the Weeping Angels before.  
An experience in which two of his very dear friends had been taken from him.  
Sure that the ordeal had given him an idea of how to succeed in their mission to save Cassidy but Clara was privately concerned about the psychological toll that it might take on her dear, renegade Time Lord.

"Are you alright?" she began to say, reaching out a little to touch his arm in comfort.

"I'm fine. Just fine. Fine and dandy," the doctor said quickly, side-stepping her advance and walking right up to the foot of the steps. "That's odd…"

"What is it? What have you noticed now?" Clara went on to ask, ignoring the admittedly sinking feeling in her stomach as she followed his gaze.

"No guards. There are no guards out here," the doctor stated, his eyes narrowing. "Why aren't there any guards on patrol? Winter's Quay had tons standing around the doors and windows so why not put any guards on patrol here?"

"The tournament," Stan grunted, his brow furrowing. "It's like this every month. Usually all of the Angels wanna attend so their presence is pretty light." He rolled his eyes. "Don't mean that they won't find you the next morning if you've tried to run, though."

The doctor whipped his head around to stare at Stan, knitting his brows and looking confused.  
"Tournament? _Tournament_? What tournament?"

* * *

Some of the people were in complete hysterics now, most of them crying, clinging to another unfortunate individual or simply shaking with fear where they stood.  
Some of them were looking at Cassidy, shouting over at her for assistance- begging for her to help them.

Only once had she tried to call back to them but Michael had growled her into silence.  
He was stone now, due to the effects of the quantum lock but the brute's hand was still firmly on her head, keeping the side of her head pressed against the cold, stone of his thigh.

She could only watch her fellow prisoners in vain.  
She was as helpless as they were.

Her heart leapt into her mouth when the lights in the ballroom suddenly switched off completely, plunging the room into complete darkness for a few seconds.  
When the lights turned back on again, each of the Weeping Angels who had once served as a barrier to fence the people in, now each had a human locked in their arms.

There were about twenty in total, all of them restrained by an Angel while the remainder of the group watched from behind in terrified anticipation.  
Cassidy noticed that the double doors at the far end of the ballroom had been opened, looking out on to the street.  
Her eyes trailed along the row of people once more as she tried to build a mental picture of the situation. The people were being lined up, facing the open doors.  
Facing escape.  
Facing freedom.  
Were they going to be raced, perhaps?

Most of the Angels were now standing, craning their necks with interest.

"M-Master?" Cassidy asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper as she spoke to the Angel that held her. "What is about to h-happen? Is it a race?"

"In some ways. This is the first wave," Michael began to explain, speaking as casually though he were an adult explaining the rules of football to a child. "Each wave has about twenty in it. The lights will go out and the humans will run towards the doors. The Angels will chase them. Any human who can evade the Angels and make it outside, wins their freedom…"

She swallowed, feeling ill as her fingertips began to turn cold. "What about the ones who don't outrun the Angels?"

Michael laughed cruelly. "Are you really so naïve that you must ask, little human?"

Cassidy's eyes widened as she stared at the row of trembling people- old and young alike- who were about to run.  
The prisoners who were being forced to gamble with lives.  
"And…h-how many have won their freedom so far?"

Michael gave another low, cynical, unkind chuckle before replying.

"None."

The lights went out.

The ballroom was only cast into a blackness for a few seconds but in those few seconds, what Cassidy heard was enough to bring bile into her mouth and set blood pounding in her ears.

An overture of screams gradually faded into a ripple of sickening crackles before complete silence settled into the room once more.

When the lights came back up again, Cassidy had to stuff her fist into her mouth to prevent herself from either being sick on the ground in front of her or from screaming outright.

"Ah," Michael commented. "No winners this time. I cannot say that I am surprised."

Dead.  
They were all dead.

All twenty of the running humans were now thrown upon the ground like ragdolls, their limbs at odd angles and blood slowly seeping from their necks and heads.

The remaining runners were now screaming openly, having been given a graphic preview of their fate.  
The lights flickered off again and another twenty were caught by the Angels and lined up to run.

It was then that Cassidy noticed the stone smirks on the faces of the Angels sitting and standing all around her.  
"Some of us place wagers on different humans, regarding how far they will get," Michael was saying. "The younger ones tend to be quite fast…though the middle-aged males have surprised us on occasion…"

"But wh-why?" Cassidy asked, tears threatening to spill her eyes once more. "Why are they doing this to them?"

Michael paused for a moment before answering in a voice that was far too light and airy a medium for the message it relayed.

"For fun, of course."

This malevolent display of mass murder was nothing more than a social gathering to the Angels.  
If any part of Cassidy had been willing to take pity on the Weeping Angels for the lonely existence that had been forced upon them by their biology: that part of her had been well and truly extinguished.

Her eyes fell upon the faces of those doomed to die and her heart-rate spiked when she noticed a little boy among them.  
The frail-looking, black haired little boy was crying, calling out for his mother and held around the neck by the merciless stone arms of an Angel.  
His small, rounded features were creased with fear and anxiety as his hands clawed at the Angel's arm.  
He looked no older than seven or eight.

No.  
No.  
No.  
She could not just lay there and allow him to be killed.  
She had to do something.  
Anything.

"Not the little boy!" Cassidy suddenly said aloud, struggling under Michael's stone grip.

"What did you say, human _slave_?" Michael growled down at her, annoyed that she had apparently spoken out of turn.

Cassidy lowered her voice. "Th-that child…please…." She sniffed, hating every fibre of her own being as she lifted a hand to place upon Michael's leg. "I…I…don't want to see the little boy die, master." She silently decided that if she were going to try to appease Michael into letting her see Abbie, she would have to see how easily he could be convinced. "P-Please…couldn't you convince the other Angels to let him go, master? He's j-just…just so young…_please?"_ She lifted her hand and started to gently stroke the stone beneath her cheek, feeling the increasing urge to be sick as she cuddled up to the monstrous living statue.

Michael was silent for a few moments, seemingly considering his prisoner's pleas before speaking again.

"Hm…how about I make you a deal, my Cassidy?"

Cassidy bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut before responding. "What kind of deal…master?"

Michael suddenly spoke aloud, addressing the entire room.  
"My little Cassidy would like to join in the game! She wishes to save the life of the third human from the left side. She wagers that she can outrun an Angel…"

As the Angels broke into high-pitched, shrieks of laughter and the humans whispered and whimpered amongst themselves, Cassidy's eyes snapped open.  
What was he setting her up for?

"Hear, hear, little human. You shall have your chance. You and the boy will be set to run on the next turn. If you reach him before an Angel does, he will be set free…does this sound like a fair deal?"

Cassidy swallowed.  
No, it was certainly not a fair deal.  
She knew that the Angels moved at a breakneck speed when they were not being watched. How could she ever hope to outrun a creature that could move in metres in the single blink of an eye?  
Hopelessness washed over her but when she looked into the panicked, staring eyes of the little boy, she knew that she couldn't leave him.  
If there was any chance of saving him- she had to take it.  
She had to _try_.

"Yes," Cassidy said finally. "That…that sounds like a fair deal to me."

The lights briefly flickered and she was roughly pushed to her feet.  
The lights flickered again and the chains that had once bound her wrists fell to the floor.  
Michael was now standing beside her, leering down at her with a malign smirk on his thin lips.  
"Then take your place, Cassidy Albright. Go and stand beside the boy."

Her fellow prisoners watched her as she walked, still whispering amongst themselves- confused as to what her entitled her to being treated as a lap-dog while they were being treated as cattle.

Although she could not hear them and although most of them were bound in stone, Cassidy would have been willing to bet her life that the other Angels were whispering amongst themselves as they watched her too.

With a slight quiver in her step, she came to stand next to the Angel that held the boy.  
Looking sideways, she could see the unforgiving look of ferality in the Angel's eyes.  
No empathy. No concern. No feeling, whatsoever.

The other Angels, still holding their prisoners tightly, seemed to have moved back, to allow for her to run alone and to see the spectacle that was about to take place.

The little boy was quivering uncontrollably, his nose and eyes streaming.

"Please h-help me, miss!" he sobbed, pleading with her. "P-Please d-don't let'em put me into the dark, miss! I don't wanna go into the dark…"

"Just run as fast as you can," she told him, taking deep breaths as she prepared herself. "Don't worry. I'll catch you first. I promise."

"P-Please, miss! P-P-Please…!"

"Are you ready, Cassidy?" Michael's voice boomed from the end of the ballroom.  
Cassidy stole one last glance down at the little boy before nodding. "Yes, I am."

"Well then…begin…"

The lights went out and Cassidy broke immediately broke into a run.  
She could not see the little boy but she could hear his fast footsteps…his whimpers…his frightened breathing…

She stretched out her hands and felt elation rise in her chest- an unspeakable joy- as her fingertips found and latched on to a pair of small, rounded shoulders.  
She had done it.  
She had saved him.

Cassidy laughed in spite of her fear, overcome with relief as she grabbed the child into her arms and held him close.

"Oh thank God," she breathed. "Thank God. It's alright…it's alright…I've got you now. I've got y-…"

However, when light returned to the room, almost falling upon her in a yellow spotlight, realisation fell upon her a vat of ice-cold water.

The little boy was slumped in her arms, his head lolling to one side, his mouth half-open and his wide, frightened eyes glazed-over and staring.  
And from his hairline trickled a single, glistening, crimson vein of blood.

She had not saved him.

Cassidy shrieked, dropping the boy to the ground in shock pure shock.  
Her body turned rigid and vomit surged into her mouth.  
Swallowing back, her wretching turned to strangled sobs and tears poured freely down her face.

The Angels were laughing at her again just as the remaining humans were wailing but she could only barely hear any of them now.  
The only thing that she could hear was her own breathing- each breath more struggling and laboured than the one before.  
She fell to her knees, desperately wiping at her eyes as she cried.  
"I…I'm sorry," she managed to choke out. "I'm so…so…sorry!"

The child lay before her like a broken mannequin- completely lifeless save for the frozen fear in his still-open eyes. She wanted to reach out to close them but she could not bring herself to lay a hand on the boy's skin.

Her fingers shaking and her entire body wrenched by revulsion, she only managed to reach out to touch the bare tips of the young boy's soft, ebony-coloured hair.  
"I'm…_s-sorry_…I tried…I really tried…Oh God, I'm sorry…!"

"Oh dear. It would appear that you have failed. Hard luck."

When she finally managed to take her eyes from the dead child, murdered mere seconds before she had pulled him into the safety of her arms, she looked up to see Michael standing over her.

The Archangel was glowering down at her, smiling eerily, his eyes locked on her and his arms folded almost tauntingly.

Glacial fear turned to white-hot rage and Cassidy's shoulders began to heave with each breath, her teeth clenching in her mouth.

"You can try again, if you would like. The Angels found your attempt to be most entertaining and there are plenty of other children in this group that have not run yet…"

"You MONSTER!" Cassidy suddenly screamed, standing up and staring right up into Michael's face. "You absolute beast! You sadist! You bastard! You're evil! Nothing but EVIL!"

Her temper had been burned to its wick's end and her hatred now poured straight from her lips, completely unbridled.  
Her eyes, unblinking.

Michael was silent for a moment and the Angels' laughter had ceased completely.  
"Hold your tongue, human," he said finally, his voice suddenly adopting a threatening quiver despite his frighteningly calm tone. "You know that you should not speak to your superiors in such a way. I am your _master_, pathetic human. Learn to accept your fear of me."

Cassidy stared up at the creature of stone in complete defiance, her fists clenched as she shouted. "You are not my superior! No fucking murderous Angel is my _superior_! You are all cowards. Every single one of you! You're all cowards! Psychotic murdering cowards who do nothing but torture other living creatures for fun! And _you_! You are not my master! You do not own me! I hate you! I despise you! And I am NOT afraid of you!"

She looked up into the face of the Angel and in the few silent seconds before she blinked, Cassidy Albright genuinely felt no fear when standing in the shadow of her captor.

In hindsight, Michael would begrudgingly admire how long his pet lasted before she blinked.

In that single drop of two eyelids, Cassidy felt something large and heavy connect with the side of her face.

Then as she sank to the floor, her body giving out beneath her, the entire ballroom was consumed by darkness.  
Fading…  
Fading…  
Gone.

* * *

"Right…follow my lead," the doctor hissed as he and his trio of companions slipped around the dust-coated front desk of the Summer Bank's reception area. "We are about to face the most malevolent, most powerful and quite possibly the most feared being that evolution has ever spat out into the universe. Keep your voices down. Listen to my every order and for the love of the Oods, if you see one, do _not_ even blink." He whipped around to look at them, wringing his hands to accentuate his point. "If we are spotted, we will have no hope of outrunning them, we will have no hope of ambushing them and we certainly will have no way to kill any of them…"

"So what exactly _do_ we have on our side?" Clara felt the sudden need to ask, looking around the darkened lobby. "Please tell me that this whole plan isn't hinging on your skills of improvisation."

"What we have on our side, dear Clara," the doctor replied, sidling up to a grime-caked mirror, hanging on the wall by the reception and absent-mindedly starting to fix his hair. "Is the ever-lasting power of knowledge…" He reached forward and suddenly lifted the mirror from the wall, thrusting it into Edmund's arms and causing him to stumble.

"Wh-at's this thing for?" the young man whispered between coughs, only barely managing to keep himself from falling over.  
"Oh, Eddie. Silly Eddie," the doctor murmured, now rifling through the pockets of his trench coat. "Have you been listening to _nothing_ that I've told you so far? The Angels turn to stone when they are in the direct sight of any other living being…even their own kind…"

"So putting them in front of a mirror," Edmund went on, his eyes widening in realisation as he heaved the mirror up against his chest. "Would be like freezing them permanently…"

"Now, you're getting it," the Time Lord responded, taking three plastic hand-mirrors from his pockets, handing one to Stan and the other to Clara. "Keep those on hand. Use them to look around corners. We're not taking any chances here." He rummaged in his pockets again before fumbling with the inner-seams of the coat. "We've also got one other trump card…where did I put them? For the love of…aha! Here."

From his pockets, the doctor gradually produced a set of clunky looking torches- all about the size of a human hand and all painted a different colour.

"What in the high hell are those?" asked Stan curiously, cocking an eyebrow and leaning forward to inspect the gaudy-looking gadgets.

"Kinaesthetic torches," the doctor proclaimed. "We know that the Angels can drain the energy from any electrical objects, making regular torches and electrical systems redundant. However, these are not battery powered…" He gave the blue one a vigorous squeezing, repeatedly pressing down on one of its protruded sides. The torch immediately flashed to life, casting its whitish glow down at the floor. "See? Powered by kinaesthetic energy. That is to say, it's powered manually. No batteries. Nothing nuclear. Just keep squeezing it and it lights up."

Clara couldn't help but smile, shaking her head. "Brilliant. As always."

The doctor shrugged, throwing her a smirk that was peppered with false modesty. "I like to be prepared." He looked to the two men. "I've got seven of them. All in different colours. Pick any one that you like…ah, but _not the red one!" _

Edmund flinched a little, warily retracting his hand from his initial, very-scarlet selection. "Why not the red one?"

"Because," the doctor said with a slight pout. "The red one is my favourite. I call dibs on it. Look, there is no time for a squabble over colours. You can have the blue one." He continued to narrate his actions as he assigned the torches to their owners. "Stan can have the green one and Clara can have the pretty pink one. Right, now that we're all ready…let's get moving…First priority: get Cassidy." He looked to the team's American recruit. "Stan, you said there was an elevator? Can you take us to it?"

The black haired man nodded, starting to walk towards a nearby alcove in the wall. "Yeah sure, it's right over he-.." Stan's eyes widened and he immediately backtracked, turning on heel to face his comrades. "There's an Angel standing in front of the elevator."

The doctor elbowed his way to the edge of the wall, using his hand mirror to peer around the corner, his eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of the familiar yet unwelcome monster. The Weeping Angel stood, solitary, its hands covering its eyes.  
Apparently hidden to the world but always watching.  
"I see it…"

"Bloody Hell…and I thought that one at the museum was creepy-looking." Edmund had craned his neck to take a gawk at the creature in the reflection. "I thought you said there'd be none of those statues guarding the place tonight because they're all at that tournament thing."

Stan rolled his eyes, a trifle annoyed. "I said that they all _usually _wanna go to the tournament, that doesn't mean they're all _gonna_ go."  
Clara looked down at the reflection, her eyes locked firmly on to the living statue. "So, that statue comes to life the moment that no one's looking at it?" She shuddered. "A living statue…"

She looked up at the doctor, noticing that his face had suddenly changed.  
Despite the seriousness upon his lips and the concerned tautness of his jaw, the Time Lord usually had a glint of curiosity in his eyes or the optimistic crease of a smile line, slowly running from the rise of mouth to the base of his nose.  
These miniscule but all-too-vital little features often served as a testimony for Clara that their mission was not in vain.

However now, the doctor's face had contorted completely- masked over by a kind of hatred that almost frightened her to look at.

She had_ never_ seen the doctor look upon another being with that kind of absolute loathing.

"How are we going to get past it?" Clara asked him, slowly. "What are we going to do now?"

"We run," he responded simply. "We run to the elevator. We keep looking at it for as long as we can. We get into the elevator. We go." He rounded on Stan and Edmund. "As _soon_ as that thing sees us- it will sound the alarm. As soon as we walk out there, we must be quick, we must be fluid, no indecisions whatsoever." He pulled out his hand mirror. "Right, here we go. No dress rehearsals and no sound checks; it's show time."

The doctor immediately bolted out, holding up his mirror- Clara, Stan and Edmund in his wake and following suit.  
Bound by its quantum lock, the Angel did not move.

"Keeping looking. Keep looking. Keep looking," the doctor chanted as they ran.

Narrowly avoiding brushing against its stone plumage, the four of them darted around the guarding Angel in order to access the iron grill of the elevator.

"Can you operate this and get us to the fourth floor, Stan?"  
"Yeah, sure can."

"Quickly, quickly…It's getting hard to keep my eyes open," Edmund said through gritted-teeth, quivering as he stared at the back of the Angels' head.  
"That's what the mirror's for!" Clara reminded him. "All you have to do is hold it up!"  
"My arm is shaking too much to hold the bloody thing steady!" the archaeologist responded, his voice heavy with nerves.

Thankfully, the elevator whirred and jingled to life mere seconds later and the four of them stumbled into the compartment.

It wasn't long before they were running along the carpeted hallway of the fourth floor.  
"Which is Cassidy's room, Edmund? Which is it?"

"Uh, this one here. Right next to mine!" the young man told him, tapping the door.

"Ah, Miss C. Albright!" the doctor read aloud from the name-plate, clapping his hands with glee. "Miss C. Albright, help is here! Ha-ha! This is perfect! _Perfect!" _

The doctor lifted his sonic screw-driver to the chained and bolted latch, letting the metal links fall to the floor before all but kicking the door in and rushing into the room.

"Cassidy! Ah! Cassidy Albright…!" the doctor paused for a moment, his arms outstretched and his mouth slowly closing. "…is not here. Cassidy Albright is not here."

"She's not there!? What do you mean she's not there!?" Stan repeated, immediately following him into the bedroom and looking around.

"I mean exactly what I said, Mr Stanley P. Quinn and that is that Cassidy Albright is not in her room," the doctor said quickly, his eyes wide as he looked downwards, starting to pace into the hall. "She's not here. So where is she?"

Clara shared the same confused expression as the other three men and her slightly wavering voice betrayed her identical panic.  
"That…that Angel. Could he have taken her somewhere? Could he had known that we were coming?"

Edmund shook his head, gripping the sides of the mirror he held with vice-like tenure. "But where would he have taken her?"

"Maybe to the tournament," Stan said slowly, terrible realisation dawning over his features. "Maybe he wants to put her into the tournament to run her with the other captives here…"

"No, no, _no," _the doctor groaned, clawing at his hair and shaking his head with frustration. "No, he doesn't want to kill her! He wouldn't have taken her anywhere with the intention of murdering her…and even if we do go down to that tournament and she's not there, we'd just be wasting time and that's only what he wants…Ugh!"

Clara grabbed the doctor's sleeve, trying to calm him down.  
"Relax, doctor. _Think_ for a second. There's no point in panicking. We're already wasting time and for Cassidy's sake, you'd better start resort to your signature method of pulling plans out of thin air…"

"Signature?" the doctor echoed. "Signature? _Signature!" _A grin suddenly burst out across his features and he seized Clara by the shoulders. "Cassidy's time signature! I can still track it if she's in the building! Clara Oswin Oswald, you are an absolute genius! A beauty and a genius to boot!" Without a second thought and before his rather stunned companion could reply, he planted a kiss straight on to her lips.

Clara stumbled back slightly, her face turning rather pink as the doctor turned and promptly began to run his sonic screwdriver around the frame of Cassidy's door.

"I…y-you're welcome."

Before anyone could pass any further comment on what had just come to pass, a tiny voice pierced the air, accompanied by the percussion of a little hand knocking on a door and promptly caused everyone to jump.

"Hello!? Helloooo!?" the little voice squeaked from behind a nearby door, two loud knocks following.

The doctor did not stop tracing the door with the screwdriver but looked in the direction of the noise, arching an eyebrow. "…who's there?"

"Abbie!" the impish voice answered.

The doctor tilted his head. "Abbie who?"

"Abbie _Drake_?!" Edmund suddenly exclaimed, almost dropping the mirror.

"You've heard that joke before then, huh?" the doctor commented, turning back to the door.

"Joke? That's not a joke," Edmund said, propping the mirror against the wall and pressing his ear to the door across from Cassidy's. "That's Abigail Drake! Leon Drake's sister! From the museum!"

Quick as a flash and deftly as ever, the doctor side-stepped Clara and Stan and flicked the sonic screwdriver over the handle of Abbie's door.  
"Ed!"

No sooner had the door opened, the little red head scrambled forward and barrelled into Edmund Potter's arms, latching on to him as being a familiar face.  
Her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes were puffy- betraying the fact that she had obviously been crying earlier.

"Ed," she sniffed. "How did you get here?"

"Abbie!" he breathed, giving the little girl a much-needed hug before moving back a fraction to look her in the eye. "How did I get here? Abbie, how did _you_ get here?"

"Michael took me here," Abbie whimpered, wriggling forward to bury her nose in his shoulder once more. "He was talking about taking me away for a long time but he told me not to tell anybody or he'd hurt Cassy."

"Do you know where Cassy is now?" Edmund asked her, taking her hand and allowing her to guide him back into the room.  
Abbie only shook her head. "I dunno. She was here before though. I hearded her outside." The little girl looked downward, rather troubled. "Michael made her cry."

Edmund frowned deeply but managed to keep his composure, lifting his free hand to pat the little girl's head. "Don't worry. It's alright now." He gestured to the others. "The doctor and his friends are going to help you and Cassy get out of here."

Abbie brightened up a little, lifting her head to look around and noticing Clara for the first time. "Hey, I know you!" she chirped. "You're the pretty lady from the museum! We talked before."  
Clara smiled down at her. "We sure did, Abbie."

From the inner part of the bedroom, Stan groaned. "Awh, no…this kid is one of those types…"  
"What do you mean one of _those_ types?" Edmund began, releasing Abbie's hand and leaving her to chat with Clara as he followed Stan further into the bedroom. "What-?...who is that?"

The young man stared at the wizened old woman lying in the bed.  
Her skin was wrinkled and dotted with purple pock-marks and her long, flossy hair formed a greyish halo around her head where she lay.

"That woman," Stan said gravely, nodding towards Abbie. "Is that little girl in about seventy to eighty years from now." Edmund's eyes widened and he shook his head slowly in disbelief as Stan went on. "The Angels keep you here your entire life. It's a never-ending cycle. The day that you first arrive here is the day that you watch yourself die…and the day that you die, you'll see yourself arrive here…"

"That old woman was talking to me earlier," Abbie commented, having wandered over to them. "But now she's sleeping. Shhh…" She pressed her finger to her lips.  
A mask-like expression on her face, save for the terrible sadness in her eyes, Clara slowly walked over to the woman in the bed. Gingerly as she could manage, the doctor's loyal companion pressed two fingers to the woman's neck.

After a moment of thin silence, she looked up at the two men and slowly shook her head.

"Hang on a minute!" the doctor cried, suddenly running into the bedroom, stooping down beside Abbie. "Sorry, Abbie. I don't mean to startle you, darling. May I just say that you are one of the prettiest girls in the galaxy? I'm the doctor but you can just call me doctor. Can I ask you a question?"

Abbie's face turned rosy as she turned her cheek into the leg of Edmund's trousers. "Hello, doctor…uh…yep…"

"Is this your first day here in the hotel? Have you been to sleep yet?"

"No, I haven't been to sleep here before…"

The doctor straightened up abruptly, raising his hands to his mouth. "I think we may have just doused two lava-worms with one bucket of water…" He stooped to Abbie's level, taking one of the little girl's hand. "Abbie, I need you to help me to save Cassidy. Do you think that you can be a superhero and help me?"

Abbie looked up into the doctor's face, giving his hand a squeeze. "…yep. I want to save Cassy…"

"Alright then, Abbie," the doctor said, squeezing the little girl's hand in return and looking to her with complete seriousness. "Not right now, but later, I am going to ask you to do a very special favour for me. I'm going to ask you to close your eyes, hold my hand and then I'm going to count to three and we're going to jump up into the air…it's going to make some special magic that will help us save Cassidy…can you do that for me?"

"Doctor, what are y-…?" Edmund began, starting to sound concerned but the Time Lord spoke over him.

"Eddie, with all due respect: I am talking to Abbie and it's important that I have _her_ trust. Not yours."

"Yes, but if you're even thinking about putting a little girl in harm's way…"

"I want to help save Cassy," Abbie interjected, tugging on the doctor's sleeve. "I want to help you, Mr Doctor."

The self-proclaimed "mad man in a blue box" smiled warmly and gave the little girl a hug before straightening up. "Thank you, Abbie." He looked to the other three living occupants of the room and brandishing his screwdriver. "I'm heading off to get Cassidy. You lot stay here with Abbie. Don't change rooms. Keep the door locked. Don't answer it if someone knocks- I won't need to knock. Use your mirrors and torches if needs be…" He saluted them, his voice lowering. "And good luck."

"Good luck, doctor," Clara echoed softly, coming to stand beside the little girl. "Be safe."  
"Kick some Angel ass for us, doctor," ordered Stan, offering him an encouraging smile.  
"Bring her back," Edmund said finally, nodding. "Bring her back."

The doctor inclined his head to them, giving everyone in the room one last glance before running to the door.

"Right then," he murmured under his breath, pulling the door open. _"Allons-_oh..."

Not a breath away from the doctor's face, right outside the door, stood three Weeping Angels.  
Each of them poised with their claws extended, their mouths open in silent screeches, their blank, grey eyes glazed over with evident rage.

The Time Lord felt his stomach tighten as a vivid memory of the last time that he had seen a Lonely Assassin standing before him passed before his mind's eye.

"Good evening ladies," the doctor said slowly, staring at the three Angels but carefully avoiding their eyes. "I am absolutely _loving_ what you've done with the place…" He cautiously bent his knees, running his hand down the wall and taking a hold of the mirror that Edmund had left propped up there. "…and this hospitality? _Wow_." He held the mirror to his chest, angling it carefully up at the Angels' feral faces. "And the three of you look stunning this evening. In _fact_…" With the swiftest of precision and without taking his eyes from the unholy trinity, he hung the mirror on the door's nameplate. "…why don't you take a look at yourselves?"

Satisfied that the Angels were helplessly frozen in stone, the doctor broke into a run, heading straight for the stairs and following the signal from his now-bleeping sonic screwdriver.  
He threw the door of the stair-well open, only to freeze as instantly as an Angel himself.

Lining the stairs stretching up to the third floor, was another menacing flock of Weeping Angels- each looking fiercer than the one before it.  
Their arms were stretched blindly in the doctor's direction.  
Set to tear apart their intruder.  
Daring him to take another step.  
Daring him to blink.

"This is going to take longer than I'd hoped," he murmured, stepping out into the stair-well and reaching for his mirror. "And time is really _not_ on my side…"

* * *

_The cave in which she stood was darker than usual.  
The little boy was there too.  
The little boy that she hadn't saved. _

"_I'm sorry," she told him, fighting back tears as she reached out for his hand. "I'm so sorry. I tried my best." _

_The little boy looked at her blankly, the same trickle of scarlet blood- innocent blood- trailing down his pale forehead.  
He did not give her his hand but when he opened his mouth to speak, the voice that passed his lips was not that of a younger boy's. It was a woman's. _

"_Don't let him," the voice bade her. "Don't let him…don't let him…" _

"_Who are you?" she begged to know. _

"_The doctor is coming. Wait, for him." _

"_The doctor?"_

"_The doctor is coming…the doctor is coming…the doctor is coming…"_

"The doctor is coming," Cassidy murmured drunkenly, writhing as she woke and gritting her teeth as a searing pain shot through her head. "Mmph…"  
Her body felt almost weightless despite the lead-like heaviness in her temples.

She tried to lift her hand to nurse her throbbing head and realised with a shock that there was nothing beneath her arm.  
_She was hanging in mid-air._

Her semi-numb fingers suddenly brushed against the corner of a wall and she realised that not only was she seemingly floating in the air but she was also…moving?

Sudden fright sent a jolt of adrenaline through her body and Cassidy immediately tried to open her eyes- but she was completely unable to. Her eyelids were firmly jutted against her eyeballs. After a few quick-breathed seconds of panic, she realised that she was still blindfolded.  
The shock seemed to stimulate blood-flow in her body once more and Cassidy made attempt to move- to put her feet on the ground- only to find her knees and shoulders being painfully clamped by a pair of broad arms, overlaid with skin that was far too cold to be that of a human's.

It was then that Cassidy came to the bleary realisation that Michael was carrying her, holding her limp body in his arms in a bridal style.

"Le…lemme go," she moaned, trying to regain command over her own speech and struggling as best she could. As her horrific memories from earlier came flooding back, she recalled him hitting her across the head. Clearly, she had been struck unconscious and only now was her body recovering from the impact.

The Weeping Archangel ignored her command, speaking as infuriatingly coolly as ever.  
"Ah. You are awake. I was hoping that you would come around soon. I made the decision after you passed out at the tournament that it was perhaps about time that I should take you to bed…"

"P-assed out?" Cassidy responded with a cough, still trying to wriggle out of his arms. "You fucking _hit_ me and knocked me unconscious, you _bastard. _Put me down, damn it."

Michael gave her shoulders another painful squeeze, threatening to break her scapula.

"You should feel lucky, little human," he snarled. "You should be at my feet, _grovelling_ right now. The other Angels wanted to murder you whilst you lay helpless but I convinced them otherwise." She could feel him quickening his pace, walking faster.

It was almost frightening, how fluidly he walked.  
The Angel moved at a pace so akin to a glide that she couldn't even feel his individual footsteps as they settled upon the floor;

The beast suddenly came to a halt and dropped her roughly, letting her fall to a gritty carpet beneath. Cassidy stumbled to her feet, rubbing her aching backside and wincing as she slowly got to her feet.  
She only barely managed to suppress a yelp of surprise when Michael suddenly tore the blindfold from her eyes.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light once more but when they did, she found herself standing in front of two polished mahogany doors, each with interlocking, decorative gold handles. Each of the doors was adorned by delicate wood-carvings of Spring flowers and small birds.  
If it had not been for her situation, Cassidy would have certainly been inclined to comment on how pretty they were.

Instead, what she found herself saying aloud was:

"This isn't my room."

The stone angel standing at her back let out a rather exasperated sigh.  
"I am _aware_ that this is not your room, silly human. This is in fact, I believe, what the humans call: "The Honeymoon Suite." The other Angels usually keep it clear but have loaned it to me for this occasion. I have decided that I should spoil you a little, considering that you did a fairly good job this evening and it is _your_ special night out, after all…"

Cassidy swallowed, an uncomfortable feeling growing in her stomach.  
Despite the quiver in her legs, her basic instincts told her to run.  
However running would be futile and she knew that too.  
As soon as she turned her back to Michael, he would have her in his grasp mere seconds later.

Apparently impatient with her silence and inaction, the Archangel suddenly spoke a low-voiced command, his tone heavy with threat.  
_"Enter." _

Taking a shallow breath, Cassidy reluctantly did as she was told though her breath immediately stilled in her throat as she walked into the room.

She found herself stepping on to a rich creamy white Berber carpet, which the trials of time had only barely managed to fade, while a magnificent chandelier cast a perfectly gilded glow across the room.  
The entire chamber had to be at least four times as big as her originally assigned bedroom and from wall to wall, it was draped in glamorous crimson velvet and encrusted with leaves of gleaming gold.  
There were two huge, skyline-view windows on the far wall, opening the room up on to the Los Angeles sky.

The furniture in the room was of the same glossy, flawless mahogany as the doors had been and the centre-piece of the entire chamber was doubtlessly the bed.  
It was a stunning four-poster, decked with white and red sheets, headed by scarlet pillows and a surrounded by a canopy of white muslin veils.

For a moment, Cassidy's breath was almost completely taken away by the room.  
However the sight of a single red rose upon the white duvet served to completely destroy the façade of fantasy- reminding her where she was and whom she was with.

"How do you find the room, little pet? Does it please you?"

All too soon, the Archangel was at her back.  
When she looked over her shoulder, the huge quasi-demonic creature of stone was leering down at her, his wings raised and curved to cast a shadow over her.

She looked away, determined not to give in to his blatant intimidation tactics.  
"I'll sleep here."

As she stared straight ahead, she slowly realised that there was something odd about the room.  
In particular, the windows.

Paying no heed to Michael, Cassidy slowly walked forward, her eyes focused on the pane of glass. At first, she had thought that it was night-time and as such, that it was particularly dark out. It was when she reached the actual window sill, that she realised that this was not the case at all.  
Cassidy reached forward and delicately ran her fingertips down the window.

_It was painted black.  
_The glass was completely painted black.

Cassidy frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as the pad of her index finger traced the gritty, matte black surface. "What…why is this-…?"

All of a sudden, she didn't need to ask her half-formed question.

She didn't to ask the question because Michael had already answered it for her.

The lights in the room suddenly went out.  
Without the faint light usually let in by the window, the entire room was pitch black- without a single source of illumination.

Her eyes starved of any kind of light and unable to see, Cassidy was left completely at the Angel's mercy.

She froze, her eyes widening as she backed against the cold glass of the window.

"What are you-? How are you-?"

"That's right, little Cassidy," Michael all but purred. "The ability to drain the power and energy from any given object is another that we Angels possess. Or have you forgotten?" His human captive desperately tried to listen for the source of his voice, but it seemed to be coming from every corner of the room. He could have been anywhere in the room- right in front of her face, if he wanted to be. "I simply coated those windows to make completely certain that some weak slivers of moonlight could not spoil our fun."

"Turn the fucking lights back on!"

Cassidy wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking down against the window.  
Could he see her in the darkness?  
Or was he just as blind as she was?  
Tracking her by her scent?  
Tracking her by her voice?

Michael laughed coldly, each tiny inflection of his deep voice seeming to penetrate her skull- her skin, chilling her to her very core.

"Behold how the pathetic, little human weakling still attempts to order a Weeping Angel around as though she is the one in control!" He gave a snarl that gave way into a string of throaty chuckles. "Your stubbornness is both entertaining and endearing, my Cassidy. There is no need to be so hostile, however. I am merely doing all I can to put you at your ease. I have even brought you a sample of that delightful liquid that makes you so happy."

Before she could take another breath, she was suddenly seized by the forearms and flung into the centre of the room. She couldn't even cry out as one arm bound her like an iron strait-jacket, instantly pressing the air out of her lungs like a pair of bellows.  
The glass rim of a bottle was suddenly shoved between her lips, clinking against her teeth and causing pain to rocket through her mouth.  
The Archangel suddenly tipped the bottle backwards, forcing its astringent liquid contents to flood the mouth of his human-toy.

"Mmmph!"

Cassidy coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to force the bottle from her mouth, choking as the bitter champagne dribbled down the sides of her mouth, caught against her breath and burned her nose and eyes.

Michael dropped the bottle, releasing her and allowing the lights to slowly flicker back on.  
Cassidy coughed, doubling over and feeling nauseated.  
Her throat felt as though a flaming comet had just rocketed through it and her stomach was no better.

"Oh my word," the living statue goaded, smirking where he stood frozen. "Has she taken a little bit too much again, I wonder?"

Rage and venom coursing through her bloodstream, now accompanied by more alcohol that she had ever been forced to drink so quickly.  
She glowered at Michael with heavy, bloodshot eyes. "…I hate you."

"Ungrateful little whelp," the Angel returned. "Your constant hostility towards me is nothing short of heart-breaking. A lowly human slave in other parts of the galaxy would be delighted to be receiving such treatment from their master. I have showered you with gifts and affection. I have shown you phenomenal levels of mercy and patience. I have attempted to include you in the activities of your upperclassmen. I have even gone to the trouble of procuring a beautiful chamber for you to slumber in tonight…"

"And I told you that I'll sleep here!" Cassidy cried, running her fingers through her hair and gripping the blonde tendrils in clumps. "What else do you want me to say?! _Thank you! _Thank you so bloody much for taking me here! I am having such a fucking lovely time being beaten around and forced to do things against my will!" She turned her back on the statue, sucking in deep breaths between her teeth as she made her way over to the bed. _"Thank you!" _

The mattress springs squeaked slightly as Cassidy sat down and for the next few minutes that followed, there was a thin silence.

She slowly let her eyes slide over to the Angel, her hands curling where they rested in her lap.  
Michael had not moved.  
He was simply standing there, silent and still as though he really were nothing more than an ordinary but beautiful stone statue.

Cassidy looked over in his direction, deliberately blinking once or twice.  
However Michael did not move an inch.

He just stood there.  
Watching her.

"What do you want?" Cassidy finally asked. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Aren't you going to undress for bed?" Michael asked, a strange note coming into his voice.

The human girl felt her heart-rate quicken and a new kind of nausea began to claw at her stomach.  
"I…I will when you get out of here!" she told him, looking downwards. "So just leave me alone so that I can go to bed."

But Michael did not leave.  
Instead he merely asked her the same question, in the same voice, as though he had not even heard her initial answer.

"Aren't you going to undress for bed?"

Cassidy looked up at him again, noticing that, again, he had not moved an inch.  
"I…"  
Her mouth suddenly grew dry, her limbs starting to grow numb and her shoulders beginning to shake.  
There was something odd about the way he asked the question  
There was something about his voice.  
There was something about the way he looked at her.  
Something dangerous.

"Very well," the sculpted seraph crooned, his voice lowering several octaves to a deep-throated growl. "Perhaps you need me to assist you…"

At these words, Cassidy leapt to her feet, her eyes wide with fear as she backed away from the Weeping Archangel.  
Angry threats, patronising comments and harsh commands aside, Michael had _never _spoken to her in such a way.  
He had never sounded so _predatory_.

"St-stay away f-from me," Cassidy stammered, her back gently thudding against the bedpost as she backed away. She tried to sound threatening but her voice rolled out extremely pleading.  
_Surely he couldn't be thinking about __**that? **_  
_Of course he had hit her and hurt her before but __**surely**__ he would never…?_

Cassidy's eyelids twitched, forced to blink and suddenly Michael was right in front of her, his teeth bared in a chilling grin, his face lowered to meet hers and his arms raised- prepared to grab her.

"You are in no place to order me around, my _lovely_, little Cassidy," he growled, letting out a laugh that truly terrified her. "Now, close your eyes, little pet and allow your master to access to your body…"

Bile surged through Cassidy's throat, her pupils dilated in sheer horror as her fears were confirmed.  
"_No! _Don't come near me! D-don't…" The chandelier lights flickered above her head, a fatalistic warning. "N-No…_please…_no…_" _

"But Cassidy," he said almost soothingly, his voice lowering. "I must ensure that I am the _only_ one to ever take you. You are my property after all."

"N-no…not that…_please_ …not that…"

The human girl stared at him, her lips trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.  
She stared into the Angel's cold grey eyes for a moment, fruitlessly searching for some kind of sympathy.  
For some kind of mercy.  
Anything to change her apparently sealed fate.

But before she could find any, Cassidy blinked.

The lights went out and the room was instantly plunged into darkness.  
Cassidy let out a scream as she felt his hands grab at her body. She tried to push against him and to escape his hold but it was like pushing against a machine of steel; he was inhumanly strong and no matter what she did, there was absolutely no give in his grip.

He tore the flimsy dress from her as easily as though it were made of tissue paper and flung her to the bed.  
Survivalist's instincts kicking in, Cassidy desperately tried to roll from the bed- flailing her arms and legs and doing anything to escape the nightmarish ordeal.

But it was no use.

All too soon, he had her pinned to the bed, his hands clamped down on her wrists and his huge form weighting her much smaller, exposed body into the mattress.

Her eyes struggled blindly in the dark to look into the face of captor but she could not see him.  
Even if he turned to stone- she would still be helpless beneath him.

Completely trapped.

_Originally it had been somewhat of a conquest for the wandering Archangel.  
_

_He had initially wanted to see how far he could push her.  
He wanted to see how much torture he could put his little human slave through before she finally snapped, her defiant front crumbled and his Cassidy Albright folded like putty in his hands. _

_Now, his motives were different.  
She may have been just a frail, pitifully weak little human but he was still male.  
Initially, his thoughts regarding his taking of her had been merely that of deviant fantasy.  
However, little by little these thoughts had descended so far into the Hellish depths of depravity that fantasy alone could not satiate his hunger for her…_

_His mouth clamped down on her throat, her vocal chords vibrating against his lips as she screeched in protest.  
_

"N-no! Please stop! You're hurting me!"

_Her screams were such music to him.  
He ran the tip of his nose along the hollows of her clavicle, breathing in her essence with vigour.  
The Lonely Assassin had no idea what about the girl excited him so much more than females of his own kind. _

"No! No! Don't…!"

_Perhaps it was her vulnerability?  
Her innocence? Her softness?  
_

_All he knew was that at that moment, it almost shocked him how much his own body had betrayed him. _

_His trained eyes cutting through the itch blackness, he could see her face.  
She was sobbing now, tears slowly trailing her flushed cheeks.  
It was almost comical to see how quickly he could force her to dissolve from a brave young woman to a whimpering little girl. _

_His little Cassidy started struggling and swearing again as soon as he moved one of his hands from her wrists to her hip.  
Trailing his hand down lower, he forced her thighs apart, moving to accommodate himself between them. _

_The scent of her fear was nothing short of delicious.  
He growled, seizing her hair to force her to move closer to him. He enjoyed feeling her short, shallow breaths against his face. _

_After months of watching her, waiting for the perfect moment to seize her…  
Maybe it was disgusting…maybe it was unnatural…  
But now her pale, milky flesh was exposed and beneath him.  
Ripe, soft, smooth and ready to be ravaged. _

_She was saying something now.  
Something about the other Angels. _

_They would certainly be fit to kill him if they found out.  
As a female human, she was the sweetest of forbidden fruits. _

_He ground himself against her, moving to prepare her for him. _

_She was screaming something else now but he couldn't hear her.  
The Archangel was deaf to all but his own primal needs.  
The call of his own arousal_

"Stop?! Stop?!...Master!? Master?!...Master!?..._Michael!?" _

_He suddenly froze, staring down at her in disbelief.  
Though that was the name that she had christened him with so long ago, it was the first time that he had ever spoke it aloud._

Cassidy had never been so frightened in her entire life, her chest heaving and her breath rattling in her throat. Hearing his given name upon her lips seemed to have caught his attention for some reason.

Desperate times called for gravely desperate measures, she had decided.

"M-Michael," she repeated, wishing that she could see him in the darkness. "Michael, please st-stop this…I don't…I don't want to…"

For a moment, his movements seemed to slow down, both of his hands simply moving to pin down her wrists against the duvet.

"You lie," he suddenly growled. "You want this as much as I do, you pitiful human harlot."

"Y-Yes y-you're right!" Cassidy suddenly cried, before he could move again. "I…I do want this. I…I…I care about you so much…and I do want this…You're right about…everything…I…I " Her stomach churning, the young woman had very little control over what she saying and noticing that it further halted the Angel's actions, she allowed the words to keep flowing from her mouth. "…I…I just w-want…I just _don't_ want our…" She swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't want our first time to be like this…I don't want any other Angels around…or other humans to d-distract me…I just…I just want it to be you and I…" Her voice faltered to a whisper and she turned her head, ashamed of her own ruse. "So it can be p-perfect."

The Angel was silent for a moment when suddenly he snarled, digging his claws into the tender skin of her inner-wrists. "You are trying to deceive me! You lie to me human! I should tear your eyes out right now so that you can never resist me!"

"No!" Cassidy cried out in protest. "I…I'm not lying…you said you knew it yourself! I've been in…" She took a deep breath, slowly despising herself more and more with each following word. "I've been in _love_ with you since I first saw you that day…in the woods…I…I'm telling the truth…"

"You lie," Michael spat gruffly, his voice colder than ever but starting to waver in a way that Cassidy had never heard before. "You insult me with your lies, human…"

Cassidy Albright had no idea what possessed her to do it.  
She was barely thinking at all.

But before the Weeping Archangel could say another word, the human girl leaned up and pressed her trembling lips to his.

* * *

**So how is this going to progress and what is going to happen when the doctor walks in? **

**Sorry if this chapter is a little off…I'm not sure that I'm entirely happy with it.  
I'm also sorry for the long wait.  
I have been quite busy lately!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!**


	15. XV

**First of all, I just have to say that I am SO SORRY that I haven't updated in so long. Between weekends away, conventions and street-art festivals, I have been certainly kept busy in the last while.  
But I'm back now and I promise that chapter updates will be a lot more regular. **

**Huge, huge, massive, massive, ultra, epic thank yous must go to my friend Alan who helped me to write doctor eleven's dialogue with Michael. It really helps to have an awesome Whovian to advise you on how to make your fanfic that little bit more accurate and I only hope that one day I can return the favour. **

**As always, I'm humbled by the reviews, faves and follows and I hope y'all continue to be entertained by the exploits of the Weeping Angel and the archaeologist who can't seem to stop obsessing over each other. **

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Never even in the throes of her wildest dreams, the haze of her most bizarre imaginings and the depths of her darkest nightmares, could Cassidy have ever forseen that she would be here.

There she lay.  
Atop the crisp sheets of a honeymoon suite bed.  
In complete darkness.  
In her underwear.  
In a hotel run by psychopathic aliens.  
In Los Angeles.  
In the year 1923.

Kissing a Weeping Angel.

The forced kiss had begun tentative, shaking and awkward.  
Her pale pink, chapped and frayed lips pressed against the alien beast's in erratic brushes, mirroring the sporadic beats of the young woman's heart.  
She began to wonder what exactly had possessed her to take this action.

It seemed necessary, however extremely illogical, (not to mention suicidal).  
After all, fighting back, threatening and pleading had all proved fruitless- yet the idea that she could possibly be in love with him seemed to have silenced the Weeping Archangel.  
Her attempts to prove this supposed "love" for him, certainly seemed to have halted him in his tracks.  
His movements had stilled and he crouched above her, completely unmoving.

For the hundredth time, her thoughts briefly drifted back to the first time that she had ever kissed him- her mind glancing on the blurry, inebriated memory of meshing her lips against the cold stone.

It was almost as though he were made of stone once more, save for the fact that instead of lifeless, polished rock, she was touching lips that felt as real as her own.

His initial lack of action evoked fear and unease in Cassidy but she continued to kiss the Lonely Assassin, her lips dotting along the corners of his mouth, upon his Cupid's bow and flush upon the centre of the Angel's lips.  
"This is wrong," she thought, continuing to crane her neck, becoming desperate in her caresses. "This creature above me is a monster…a monster who was going to force me to lie with him…a monster who has kidnapped me…he has done horrific things to me…"

Then all of a sudden, like a pile of tinder slowly catching fire, the Angel began to return the kiss.

Now it was Cassidy's turn to freeze- half panicked, half shocked.

Michael's lips slowly moved against hers, mirroring the movements of the human who lay beneath him. While his mouth lacked the fearful trembling that her own had suffered from, his kiss was clumsy- as if the act was foreign to him.  
What he lacked in experience, however, he made up for in sheer vigour.

The living statue tucked one hand beneath her neck and firmly tilted her head upwards, preventing her from shying away from the kiss that she had initiated.  
His other hand still remained tight around her wrist and was slowly starting to get tighter, to the point of pain.

Fearfully, Cassidy began to partake in the kiss once more and his grip slackened.

Her eyes widened, staring out in petrified shock into the darkness as Michael pressed his body fully against hers  
Then, little by little, her eyelids drooped and she gave in.

The Weeping Archangel's lips were soon melting into the human girl's own.  
His breath felt cool against her skin with each occasional parting and just when she thought that he was about to push her away- in a violent change of mind- his broad arm moved from cradling her neck to wrap around her bare shoulders.

Though her body had once felt rigid, her limbs soon fell limp and as the kiss deepened, Cassidy automatically lifted both arms to encircle his neck.  
She felt the threatening broadness of his neck, the imposing breadth of his shoulders, the coarseness of his long hair as it spilled over her fingers and the eerie smoothness of his skin.

And all the while, she wanted to cry.  
Cassidy felt ashamed of herself and truly repulsed at her own actions.  
She was kissing and allowing herself to be kissed by a murderous, vicious monster, knowing that distracting and deceiving him was possibly the only way to stop him from forcing her to do something that she could hardly bear to think about.  
She was _letting_ him use her.

And the worst part was that it felt so _good_.  
Cassidy had never been kissed in such a manner before- with such almost polite, hesitant tenderness coupled with half-tamed, brute force.

He was almost _exploring_ her.  
And she was more than happy to be explored.

Every part of her that had once been ruled over by logic, struck down by fear and dictated by caution had left her body.

Giving in was far too easy and far too pleasurable and soon, their actions had dissolved into pure passion.  
Tears were running down both of her cheeks but Cassidy continued to kiss him, taking a deep breath and releasing a breathy sigh of wanton need when the feathers of the seraph's wings skimmed her arms.

Suddenly, all of her inhibitions, her sanity, her common sense, her _fear_…it had all dissipated into the same strange, terrible longing that she had felt upon her first meeting with Michael.

Each new sensation ignited wonder in her.  
Wonder and warmth.

The same wonder and warmth that flickered in her chest when the wide-eyed archaeologist had first found the enigmatic but beautiful angel of stone, chained up in a forest clearing.

_At first, Michael had been taken aback by his caged bird's sudden change in tune.  
Only moments after clawing at him, screeching about how much she hated him and whimpering about how much she did not want to give herself to him- she was telling him that she was in love with him. _

_He knew that the human girl rightfully harboured great reverence for him but…love? _

_For the first time ever, she had called him by the title that she had given him.  
She told him that she desired perfection in their relationship and thus, the perfect circumstances for their coupling to take place.  
The Angel could understand this.  
Perfection in their relationship- namely the two of them existing together, with no contact from any other living being- was precisely what he wanted. _

_But was fear forcing her to betray her true feelings to him?  
Or was it merely prompting her to tell further lies? _

_However before he could further question her motives, she had kissed him. _

_For a moment, Michael did not move.  
Despite his inaction, his Cassidy was persistent.  
It was as though her fear of him- the precise levels of intimidation that he had carefully moulded and fostered within her- had suddenly vanished. _

_And for some reason that he didn't care. _

"_Kissing", as humans understood it, did not have the same meaning for the Weeping Angels.  
The Kiss of an Angel could have gene altering properties depending on how it was used. Though he had never come across the need to use the ability, an Angel's Kiss could change the appearance of a human being.  
In extreme situations, an Angel could also suck all the years of life from a person's body through lip contact too.  
When caring for a cherub, Angels could also feed their young using mouth to mouth transfer. _

_Centuries of observing human behaviour had taught Michael that humans used kissing for an entirely different purpose.  
For humans, a kiss was a sign of affection and could be used a great expression of intimacy. _

_It was the chance to sample the taste of a prospective mate. _

_Michael had never used the act for such a need but he was not naïve to the mechanics of human kissing.  
_

_The beast drove his mouth against his captive's, sealing his lips down upon hers and pressing his hulking form into her much smaller, frail body. _

_He felt Cassidy struggle to part for air- to create a seam between their lips to provide herself with the oxygen that her chest craved. Not one to have his dominance balked, Michael denied her such a luxury and insistently held the kiss, relishing the sound of her strained whimpers.  
But much to his own surprise, instead of beating at him and struggling, his claimed pet quickly bent to his will, instead choosing to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. _

_It was sick, it was wrong, it was heresy, it was treason, it was a perversion of his nature…_

_Michael suddenly parted from her, rearing backwards and out of her reach, as though following a sudden, disgusted realisation of what he was doing.  
He was engaging in a cultural act of intimacy with a _human._  
A lowly, filthy being, suited only to be an object of entertainment or nourishment. _

_And his slave, nonetheless! _

_He looked down at her in the dark, watching as she blindly writhed in the sheets, worry slowly etching across her features.  
No doubt wondering why he had suddenly withdrawn.  
Her eyes suddenly snapped open- wide, staring, darting and glazed over with such delicious fear. _

_A moment of silence past as his human' chest slowly began to heave- rising and falling with each nerve-ridden breath.  
It was distracting to his thought process, Michael decided.  
He growled, placing his hand flat on her chest and pushing downwards with the hope of stilling her. _

_However it was when he felt the heartbeat in her chest, drumming so frantically with the most terrifyingly evocative mixture of fear and yearning, that his mind suddenly emptied of all thought.  
Glazed over by an instinct that was both primitive and impossible to ignore. _

_How dare she reduce him to this?  
The little strumpet.  
Sometimes, when he was keeping surveillance on his pet, he would catch a glimpse of her bathing through an open sliver in the bathroom door.  
Through a slit in shower curtain, he would see her and envy every drop of water that traversed her soft, pale skin without a word of discomfort from her like a common voyeur.  
_

"_**What kind of effect do you have on me? You lowly, pathetic little creature of the dirt? Why do you do this to me?" **_

_He crushed his lips to hers once more, paying no heed to her muffled cries and relishing the sudden silence and instant warmth that came with her submission to him once more. _

_The Archangel parted to hiss in her ear between kisses, feeling her sharp intakes of breath against his face: _

"_**Only I…can do this…to you… Only I can make you feel this way…" **_

_He felt her head nod frantically, her fingers clinging to the skin of his shoulders as his mouth found hers once again. _

_All of a sudden, Michael sensed the presence of another being- a powerful being.  
But not another Angel. _

_Swiftly, he parted from his human's warm, swollen lips and sprang up from the bed, glowering at the doorway. _

_In the back of his mind, he had known that this __**particular**__ threat would eventually rear its head. _

"_**Let him try to take her," **__he silently threatened, his fangs starting to protrude once more. __**"Let him try…" **_

The door opened and light poured into the bedroom, sending an illuminating curtain of glowing white light across the floor and over the bed.  
The silhouette of a tall man appeared in the doorway, gilded in the all-too-bright gleam of the hall-way light.

Cassidy struggled to sit upright, her face flushed, her lungs crying out for oxygen and her body aching from the pressure of being weighted into the mattress beneath the colossal Weeping Angel.

Her eyes fell upon the figure whose shadow was cast over her.

"D-Doctor? _Doctor?!" _

"Yes, Cassidy," the Time Lord replied, slowly walking into the room. "It's me." He took a deep, quavering breath, rubbing his forehead. "I am truly sorry that I was so late but you're safe now."

His eyes travelled from Cassidy to the bedpost, to the painted window pane and finally to the Weeping Archangel that towered at his victim's bedside.

The doctor's eyes narrowed.

"Cassidy, come over here," he said quickly.

The young woman had only barely sat up when Michael suddenly snarled.

"_Cassidy! _Do not dare move. Stay where you are!"

"That's enough from you!" the doctor shouted at the living statue. "She is _not_ yours to command anymore! She never was."  
Cassidy's courage was instantly reignited by the doctor's confidence and abruptly pulling herself to her feet, she ran to his side. Her legs felt bloodless and weak but the sight of the wiry man, with a mop of brown hair and a scarlet bow-tie, brought her new determination.  
After weeks of imagining the face of her saviour- after falling in and out of despairing moments in fear that he would never come- the doctor had finally arrived._  
_

"Doctor," she breathed, looking up at him. "I can't believe you're…you're really here."

The doctor nodded slowly, glowering at Michael before pulling a hand-mirror from his pocket and raising until it directly in the Angel's line of sight. "Forgot to cover your eyes, didn't you?" he murmured quietly. "Well, I've never had the displeasure of meeting a male Weeping Angel before this but I can definitely say that the females of your kind are a lot smarter…"

The Time Lord looked down at Cassidy, smiling faintly. "It's nice to see you again too, Miss Albright. Nice to see that you're…unharmed…" The doctor's voice started to trail away as his eyes scanned Cassidy from head to toe, his brow furrowing deeply.

The young woman swallowed, feeling her face heat up with shame.

She stood before him in little more than her underwear and even that had been torn in several places.

She raised her arms to instinctively cover herself and the doctor coughed, awkwardly shrugging his long trench-coat off and handing it to her.

"Here," he told her. "Put this on and run to the elevator. Run straight there, go inside, close the door and don't open it for _anyone_. I won't need to knock and I'll be there with you in a few minutes."

Cassidy nodded breathlessly, quickly putting the coat around her shoulders. "Thank…thank you, doctor."

"Do not do as he says, Cassidy!" Michael roared. "Stay here!"

His words tore through her and the human girl suddenly found herself unable to move.

"Don't listen to him, Cass," the doctor said, his voice low but soft. "He has nothing over you anymore. Your freedom is right outside that door." He looked to her with a gaze that filled her with a sudden and inexplicable kind of hope. "Go now."

Cassidy nodded, turning to leave the bedroom and placing a hand on the polished doorknob.

"Cassidy!" the Weeping Archangel shouted at her. "Obey me! Remain at my side!"

She froze for a moment, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly with each unsteady breath.  
Never before had she felt such a nauseating feeling encapsulate the trunk of her body.  
Never such a mixture of elation and pain.

It shouldn't have hurt so much.  
Why did it hurt so much?

"No," she said, though her voice was hardly more than a whisper.  
And without so much as another sound, Cassidy left the room, disappearing down the long corridor behind her.

The doctor watched her leave, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips before he turned back to Michael, scowling once more. "Right…now to deal with you…"

The Weeping Archangel let out an infuriated roar before growling.  
"If you think your meagre looking glass will keep me trapped for long, meddling human, then you are certainly mistaken!"

The lights in the hallway began to flicker as he drained their power, threatening to plunge the room into complete darkness.

With each flicker, Michael's face contorted further into one of demonic rage.

"Not so fast!"

The doctor pulled his torch from the pocket of his trousers, frantically pumping the handle and letting its yellowish halo of light shine on Michael. "Weren't expecting that, were you? Not used to playing on an even field?"

The lights in the hallway began to slowly stabilise once more until they were fully on.  
The doctor lowered his torch but not the mirror, his eyes still firmly locked on the snarling statue before him.

"Now…we've not been formally introduced, have we?" the doctor said, his own voice quiet but shaking with barely suppressed anger. "Angel _Michael_, is it?"

"And you are the doctor," the Weeping Angel returned. "I know of your intentions. I have known of them since the first day that you attempted to contact my Cassidy. You will not take her from my possession…"

"Oh shut up!" the doctor barked over him. "Just shut up and stop embarrassing yourself and your race any further. Cassidy Albright is not "your" Cassidy. She's her own human being and she was never yours to take in the first place…"

"I fairly and rightfully claimed her as my own. To take her from me would be an act of theft, doctor," the Angel responded, his tone suddenly becoming eerily cool.

"Theft?! Get it through your thick, stone skull! _She was never yours in the first place!_ And if you want to talk about any brands of criminal activity here, theft is a fairly light example. Especially when compared to abduction, forced slavery, brutal physical assault of a defenceless being from a level five planet…" The doctor's eyes narrowed, his lip twitching and his teeth gritting. "_Sexual_ assault…"

"Assault? This is all part of we Angels' process of hunting and feeding," Michael responded with a guttural chuckle. "And such surplus accusations! Why, I daresay Cassidy enjoyed her stay here _and_ my company. Are you certain that you have gotten the right side of the story, doctor?"

The doctor did not reply for a moment, only sucking in deep breaths between his teeth.  
When he finally did speak, his voice was so chilling that even the Weeping Archangel was forced into silence.

"…I knew you were cold. I knew you were brutal. I knew you were monsters, but with all the terrible things I've seen in this universe I never, never thought you would stoop to playing these twisted games." The doctor shook his head slowly. "This isn't hunting. This isn't feeding. This isn't even "murder"…killing her would have been the _kinder _option. This is an abomination."

"Cassidy Albright is indebted to me. She was living under the rule of a number of other humans. Beings of her own species commanded her, berated her and constantly served as an impediment to her well-being. When with me, she was under the command and care of a superior being. I have infinitely improved her lifestyle…"

The doctor's eyes suddenly lost their usually bright glint and his brows fell heavy with anger.  
"Improved?" he began softly, shaking his head. "Is that what you really think? No, Michael. You have not "improved" anyone's lifestyle. Especially not Cassidy Albright's. In fact, the only thing that you've done is to have made a number of terrible mistakes. Firstly, you brought Cassidy here. Secondly, you brought that little girl, Abbie, here. Thirdly, you've gotten on my bad side." His voice was now audibly shaking with rage. "If you think that you can make a human being into your own personal _toy_, if you think that I will let you take an innocent soul and use them for your damn, twisted horrors- just remember me. Remember these eyes. Your reign over Cassidy is over, Michael. Crawl into whatever hole you can find, in the darkest place in the cosmos. Because if you lay one finger on her or on _any_ being with breath in its body ever again, no trick you can conjure will keep me from bringing the sky down on your head."

There was a long, tense silence between the two powerful aliens.

"Bold words," Michael finally said quietly though his cool tone was already threatening to fracture. "Though your threats will prove pointless as I will soon have Cassidy in my possession once more and rest assured, doctor, you will not take her away from me."

"She's already free," the doctor told the Weeping Archangel, slowly walking backwards towards the door. "And you'll never take her again. _Never._"

It was only when the doctor had slipped from the room and closed the doors behind him that the Atlasian alien monster let out an almighty, ungodly roar.

Cassidy had shrunk back against the back wall of the elevator when the doctor burst into the compartment, yanking the brass-cage door shut behind him and immediately going to work on the button panel.  
After padding himself down in a frantic, self-nominated frisk-search, he turned to her.

"Pocket," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "In the right pocket, wasn't it?"

He reached forward and pulled a long metallic object from one of the pockets of the trench coat that Cassidy now wore. "Aha! Perfect. Here we are."

The doctor held the strange gadget to the elevator's button panel.  
The bizarre humming sound and glowing light produced from the tip of the object might have been of greater surprise to Cassidy, if her mind wasn't so heavily weighted with other matters.

She could feel herself shaking beneath the welcome warmth of the doctor's coat.  
She clung to the copper rail behind her as though it were a life-line, refusing to give into her quivering knees.

As soon as the elevator started to move, the slender young man with the vaguely familiar face turned to the young woman behind him.  
Cassidy had been avoiding direct eye contact with him but it was almost comical to her that when he spoke first, his voice was the one that sounded awkward and unsure.

"Are you…alright?" the doctor asked her quietly.  
His own breathing was almost as shaky as her own, as though he, too, was trying to calm himself down.

There were many ways that Cassidy contemplated responding to the question but when she opened her mouth, all that came forth was a low, gurgling sound in the back of her throat.  
No matter how hard she tried, she could not force herself to form words.

Her eyes stung and her stomach churned.

She could still feel Michael's lips against hers.

"I…I…"

It was when tears began to slowly fall down her face that the doctor wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving the smaller, human woman a hesitant but comforting squeeze.  
"It's alright, Cassidy. It's all over now," he told her. "We may not be out of the woods yet but…I promise, I won't let him near you again." She heard the doctor let out a long, shaky exhale.  
She could feel his heartbeat in his chest.  
It was the strangest rhythm that she'd ever heard.

Her own mother suffered from a heart murmur- an irregular heartbeat.  
She could remember pressing her cheek against her mother's soft bosom and listening to the strange _ka-KA-thump, ka-KA-thump, ka-KA-thump._

"Everyone's heart beats to the rhythm of their own drum," Maria Albright had joked. "And my drum just loves a good reggae beat."

The doctor's heartbeat sounded as if it had its own polyphonic rhythms and harmonies, echoing around his ribcage and pumping in time to a bass-line.  
"Wow," she thought numbly, almost forgetting about where she was. "This guy has the entire percussion section of the orchestra between his lungs."

"He didn't…_harm _you…just now," the doctor asked her quietly as the elevator continued its descent. "Did he?"

Knowing exactly what he meant and feeling his arms start to tense around her, Cassidy quickly shook her head.  
_If only you knew, doctor. If only you knew. _

"…I'm fine," she managed, just as the elevator slowed to a halt. "Or…I'll _be_ fine, anyway."

Maybe it was a lie but at the time, it seemed like a necessary lie.

The doctor gave Cassidy one last squeezing embrace, briefly resting his chin on the top of her head before turning to pull the elevator door open. "Quickly, Cass. Down to the room where Michael was keeping Abbie."

Cassidy's heart leapt at the knowledge that the doctor had found Abbie but they had only just stepped out of the elevator when she found herself recoiling again.

"Doctor…"

Three monstrously enraged Weeping Angels stood right outside the little girl's door, all of them frozen in stone but poised to attack.

"It's alright," the doctor explained, taking Cassidy by the wrist and pulling her in his shadow. "There's a mirror hanging on the door of the room. The Angels are stuck there. For now." His brow furrowed. "If these Angels haven't sounded the alarm already, it won't be long before that monster upstairs does. The whole hotel will be on red alert."

He slipped around the first of the trio of Angels, fumbling for the door handle.  
"Don't stop looking at the Angels, Cassidy. Don't stop looking."

She nodded complying with his wish, despite the sudden, horrific realisation that Michael could have been standing behind her at that very moment.  
Despite the intense bout of paranoia, she continued to stare intently at the three seraphs of stone.

After treating the door handle with his odd, buzzing device as he had the button panel, the doctor beckoned for Cassidy to follow him into the hotel room. She did so, keeping her eyes locked on the deadly Hecate that almost barred the entrance.  
Their feral expressions up close were enough to stab her with a jolt of terror but not half as much as Michael's often quasi-demonic look of anger did.

"Where's old Ab…er…the old lady gone to?" she heard the doctor saying.  
"We wrapped her up in sheets and put her under the bed. She was starting to creep the kid out but we wanted to give her more dignity than just hauling her out the window…"

She slipped into the doorway, avoiding the stone fingertips of the Angels who stood before her and once inside, stepping back to allow the doctor to close and lock the door once more.  
The hotel room was warmer than the corridor and though she expected to look upon a mirror-image of her own holding cell when she turned, she was instead greeted by a very welcome sight of a face she hadn't seen in a very long time.

"St-Stan?"

The black-haired man grinned, grabbing her by the hand and tugging her forward into a tight hug. "Yeah, it's me, Cass. Good to know that you're alright. The doctor sure did come through on this one."

"Ye-yes," Cassidy stammered as her former-neighbour slowly released her, looking up into his warm brown eyes for the first time in months. "I…I'm glad that you're alright too."

"Cass!? Bloody Hell, I can't believe it's you."

The young woman turned to the owner of the familiar voice, only to have an equally familiar face greet her- having just walked out of the bathroom.

Her eyes widened. "Ed…Edmund?! Edmund, what are you doing here?"

The bespectacled young man jogged up to his colleague, immediately embracing her as Stan had done.  
Cassidy stepped back a little, looking up at him. "Michael didn't take you here too, did he?"

"No," Edmund informed her with a smile. "The doctor and Clara took me along to help find you. It wasn't exactly easy, le-…"

Edmund Potter was promptly cut off by Abigail Drake latching herself on to Cassidy's right leg, squeezing it tight.

"Cassy! Cassy is here!"

Smiling faintly, Cassidy stooped to return Abbie's hug. "…I am. At last."  
She stroked the little girl's tufty scarlet hair. "Are you ok, Abbie?"

Abbie nodded, resting her head in the crook of Cassidy's neck. "I'm all good. Clara and the doctor came here to rescue us."  
Over the child's shoulder, Cassidy looked over to the pretty, brown-haired girl sitting on the bed.

"Clara, isn't it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and giving her another faint smile.  
"We met that day at the funeral," the doctor's companion confirmed with a nod, returning the smile.

"I don't mean to break up this delightful reunion but time is still quite of the essence right now," the doctor suddenly shouted over the cluster of people. "We all have to get out of here. Out of this room and out of this hotel."

Suddenly there was a loud cracking- the unmistakable sound of glass shattering- right outside the door of the room, causing five sixths of the room to jump in surprise.

"And it would appear that the Angel reinforcements have arrived and they've broken our mirror! We've got minutes to go."

Abbie squirmed in Cassidy's arms and looked her up and down, apparently having taken no interest in what the doctor had just said.  
"Cassy, what happened to your clothes? You look really awful…"

For the first time, Stan and Edmund began to survey Cassidy too, starting to take note of her dishevelled appearance.  
The American man's face was slowly slipping into a darkened scowl of realisation and the Englishman looked to her with quizzical concern.

"Cass, how on earth did you lose…your clothes?"

"I…"  
Her face turned a deep red and her shoulders began to shake as humiliation and fear began to take root in the archaeologist's stomach.

"No time for chit-chat!" the doctor interjected once more, prodding the door with his sonic screwdriver. "We all have to get going, _now_."

"Alright then," Clara said, rising from the bed and walking over to the door. "Straight out the door, into the elevator and straight down to the lobby again?"  
The doctor shook his head. "Nope. Straight out the door, into the elevator and straight up to the roof."

"The roof? Why the roof, doctor?"

"Actions, first. Explanations, later," the doctor said quickly, waiting for the others fall into line behind Clara. "Keep your mirrors and torches on hand. Cassidy, you'll find a mirror and a torch for yourself in the pocket of my coat…ready?"

"Actually doctor?" Cassidy asked suddenly. "When we get out into the hall, is there any way that I could go into the room where I was being held for just one second?"  
"Cassidy, we have to go. This is-…"  
"Please, doctor."  
"Why do you need to go in there?"  
"I…I want to get dressed properly…"  
"You don't need to. No one is going to stare."  
"I trust that but…there's something else…something I want to get…it's kind of personal…"

"We've got the mirrors, doctor," Clara pointed out. "And there are five of us. We could hold the Angels off for her."

The doctor sighed, slumping his shoulders. "…ok, ok but _please_ be quick."

The Time Lord opened the door, slipping out and around the Angels, frowning as he went.  
"Ok, it looks like the reinforcements were more than plentiful." He beckoned for his latest team of companions to follow. "Keep your eyes on them all. Use the mirrors. Cass, be as quick as humanly possible. In fact, be _in_humanly fast."

She nodded and walked out into the hall.  
Her heart was racing again, her temples starting to ache with nerves.  
She looked around frantically as Stan, Edmund and Clara (whom Abbie had decided to attach herself to), took up their best vantage points.

Despite the flocks of Lonely Assassins that now flooded the hallway, Michael was nowhere to be seen.

Where was he?  
Would he really give up on her so easily?  
Or was this all part of another scheme of his?

"Quickly now, Cass."

Nodding in agreement, Cassidy hurried over to the door of the room that had served as her cage. She ran inside, finding a cluster of her clothes on the bathroom floor and dressing herself faster than she had ever dressed before, regardless of her trembling hands.

Before she left the room, Cassidy reached under the pillow of her bed, took out the wad of paper- the letters that she had wrote- and stuffed them into her pocket.

Maybe it was menial.  
Maybe it was ridiculous.  
But to Cassidy, they were both an aid and testimony to her survival and she wanted to keep them.

It was when she returned to the hallway that the true horror of the situation struck her for the first time.  
The Weeping Angels had surrounded the group on both sides, their arms outstretched with the intent to kill and almost completely blocking the narrow hallway with lattices of their slender, grey limbs.  
It was like a macabre forest of stone.

"Ok…roughly fifty or more of them versus six of us," the doctor said aloud his eyes wide, staring and darting as he held his mirror at arm's length. "Right…then. We're going to get to the roof via the elevator. Clara and I will lead off, Cassidy stay in the middle of the group at all times and Stan and Edmund, walk backwards to make sure our new friends don't follow us…" He lowered his voice. "This is it, everyone. One slip up and I'm afraid we're all dead."

Abbie let out a low whimper, prompting Clara to hiss. "Doctor!"

"Oh yes," the doctor exhaled, starting to move. "Lie to the little girl. That will make all the bad Angels go away."

Cassidy followed the doctor's lead, not saying anything.  
Throughout the hoard, no matter where she looked, Michael was nowhere to be seen.  
Even when the group made it to the stairwell, there was still no sign of him.  
Just endless clusters of the vicious-looking females, all glowering at the small group of humans.

"Ok," she heard Edmund murmur softly as he traversed the petrified crowd, obediently walking backwards and swinging his mirror around wildly with each turn. "It's just like playing Minecraft. Just like playing Minecraft. Playing Minecraft and keeping an eye out for Creepers…"

"What the heck are you blabbering about?" Stan demanded to know, whispering through gritted teeth.  
Edmund's reply was a near-comical mixture of terrified and dismissive. "Future st-stuff…nevermind."

After what felt like walking for an eternity through the labyrinth of murderous statues, the doctor finally led them up the final stairwell to the rooftop.

The air outside was heavy with humid, evening warmth but as soon as she walked out on to the flat, concrete surface, Cassidy felt a cutting draft of cold air drift across her.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears and as she slowly came to a halt, her knees began to shake.

She hadn't been outside in _so_ long.

She would have thought that her first time beneath a twilight sky with fresh air lapping against her skin, would have been an uplifting moment for her.

But at that very point in time, it was as though her senses were slowly slipping out of her control.

As she looked up at the sky- glowing with the last of the sun's sparse light and choked by wisps of blackened cloud- she became vaguely aware of the doctor shouting something.  
Behind her, Edmund and Stan closed the door to the roof-top, seemingly following the other man's commands.  
Amidst the sounds of her own blood pulsing in her ears, she could hear Clara saying something to the doctor.  
Something loud.  
Something anxious.

When she looked up next, the doctor was standing on the very edge of the roof, beckoning to the little girl, clinging to Clara's hand.

"We don't have much time left."  
"Doctor, what are we doing up here? What…what do you want Abbie to do?"

Forcing herself to follow Edmund and Stan, Cassidy wandered over to the roof's edge, fumbling with the hem of her shirt as they approached the sheer drop.

"In order to poison the Angel's food supply…in order to kill this entire group of Angels, we have to create a paradox. One person dying twice in the same night is a paradox…"

"What? Dying twice?" Cassidy suddenly exclaimed, thoroughly torn from her reverie by the doctor's words. "What do you mean? Who died? Who's going to…?"  
Realisation dawned upon her as her eyes slid sideways, down to the little girl whom the doctor's attention was also focused on. "What? Abbie! No…"

There was a loud bang and the large metallic door to the rooftop was suddenly rattling in its hinges.

"Abbie will not be harmed. I promise that. As soon as the paradox takes place, the Angels will die and it will be as though Summer Bank never happened…" The doctor looked downwards, inhaling and exhaling deeply before adding in a voice that was as hoarse as it was quiet. "No one can die from jumping from a building that never existed…" He looked over his shoulder at the four adults. "That's why I'm jumping too." The Time Lord swallowed.

Another loud bang rang out from behind them, reminding them of the ever-present threat that the Angels posed.

"Doctor," Clara said aloud, her voice faltering slightly as it left her lips. "This plan is …" She shook her head. "What it something goes wrong? What if-?"

The doctor swung around, looking into his loyal companion's glistening brown eyes with earnest intent. "I've been here before, Clara. You have to trust me."

For the third time, the door was rocked in its own hinges.  
This time it was accompanied by the hellish screech of claws being raked down its metal underside. Abbie gave a loud whimper, squeezing the doctor's hand.

"I do trust you," Clara said aloud, suddenly taking the doctor's other hand and stepping up on to the ledge too. "And after everything, I'm with you no matter what you decide to do." She stole a wide-eyed glance at the terrifying ten-storey plunge before giving the doctor a shaky smile. "I'm jumping too."

Slowly, the doctor's fingers closed around Clara's and gradually, he returned the quivering smile. "Alright…"

"All for one, one for all," Stan suddenly said, hopping up on to the ledge and grabbing Abbie's free hand. "If we're gonna stick it to those damned stone demons, I say Miss Clara's got the right idea. Let's all jump together."

Edmund nodded, pushing his glasses up and along his nose, taking Clara's free hand and joining the foursome on the roof's edge. "You'd best count me in too, then."

Abbie smiled toothily. "It's not so scary with everyone up here with me…"

The door suffered another brutal attack.

"But I want Cassy to jump too. I don't want to jump unless Cassy jumps with us."

The little girl looked over her shoulder.

Stan stretched his hand out, ready for the archaeologist to accept it with a comforting smile on his face. "One step for freedom, Cass. We're finally there."

Yes.  
_Yes.  
_She _was_ finally there.

It had all happened so quickly.  
The doctor had finally arrived and was offering her a chance of escape.

She took her first conscious breath of fresh air- air from the outside world- filling both of her lungs.  
It was the moment that she had dreamed about for so long but never once had she imagined the horrible clenching in her lower stomach. It was a feeling almost akin to guilt, though Cassidy could think of nothing that she should feel guilty for.

Her horrors were almost over.

Taking a tentative step forward, she lifted her hand to place it in Stan's.

"_Cassidy! _Do not dare do what that man tells you to!"

She turned around, her heart suddenly hammering and her entire body seizing- blood seemed to rush from the veins of her extremities to accommodate for the pumping in her chest.

The door to the rooftop had burst open and scores of Angels were now filtering on to the roof.  
Michael was at the forefront of the group, his wings open and spread to their fullest, most intimidating span, his fangs were bared and one clawed finger was pointing at his claimed human.

"Cassidy!" the Archangel growled. "Come here this instant! Do not take a step further!"

The five standing on the roof had turned around.

"Goddamn it," Stan all but snarled. "_Him_." He held his hand out to Cassidy even more insistently, reaching out slightly to grab at her fingertips. "Come on, Cass. Grab my hand and step up."

"Jesus Christ," Edmund breathed, his eyes wide as he gawked at the huge, hulking statue. "It really _is_ alive. It really _is_ talking to her…"

"Keep looking at them," the doctor said through gritted teeth, scanning the rooftop but keeping a hold of Clara and Abbie. "Keep looking at them all." He looked down to Cassidy. "Cass. Don't listen to him. He has nothing over you. Just ignore him."

Cassidy's eyes were firmly locked on Michael's face.  
She tried to avoid staring directly into his eyes but it was difficult when she could feel their gaze burning into her like the glare of floodlights.

"Cassidy, come here. Come to me," the Angel beckoned. "Come back to your master."

"Don't listen to him!" the doctor shouted. "You've beaten him, Cass. He's defeated and he's playing last minute mind games…"

Michael steadily ignored the doctor's words, his tone suddenly softening.  
"Please, Cassidy. What you spoke of before…for us to be together…just you and I with no other distractions…we can still enjoy this as a luxury…"

Cassidy's face started to heat up but she shook her head, her breath catching in her throat.  
"No…no…stop it!" she suddenly shrieked, taking a step backwards. "Stop lying to me!"

"To deny wanting to come with me is to admit that _you_ are the liar, human," Michael seethed, his tone soft but intense. "Come here to me. I shall take you away from all of this. From everything that troubles you. Just one touch of my hand. That's all that it will take…"

"Cassidy," the doctor pleaded. "Don't listen to a word that he says…just take Stan's hand now…we have to go…"

"One touch," Michael repeated, speaking loudly and over the doctor. "That is all it will take. Come with your master now. I promise to honour our covenant in exchange for your obedience, you will be well-treated…I can take you away…just you and I together…is that not what you want? You told me endlessly of how all you wanted was to be taken away… by me."

"That's what I _wanted_!" Cassidy shouted at the Angel, the statue that she had found, liberated and cared for and the psychopathic alien who had been her captor and prison-warden. "Then you ruined it, Michael…then you turned into a monster…"  
She was horrified by the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes and the desperate sinking in her stomach as she backed away further, taking Stan's hand.

"Cassidy…no! NO! Return to my side NOW!"

"I don't belong to you!"

She stepped up on to the ledge, her legs shaking as she squeezed Stan's hand.  
Her eyes remained on Michael as she twisted her body to face the drop.  
Fear overcame her in a single, cold rush but she refused to let it permeate her sudden streak of courage.

"…you_ always_ will."

Michael's words shot straight through her chest like her arrows.

She could barely hear the doctor as he counted them in; his voice sounded far away and echoing.  
As the six of them turned their heads, releasing the Angels from their quantum lock, their feet left the stony ledge.  
Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut as she jumped.  
She never saw nor felt Michael's fingertips, mere inches from touching the loose tendrils of her hair as she leapt out of his reach.

The first thing that she felt was the sudden, shocking, terrifying sensation of falling.  
The feeling of air rushing around her, of her body going rigid and of nothing beneath her as she dropped.  
She kept her eyes shut but could sense the ground nearing.

But all of a sudden, she could feel herself being engulfed by a sudden warmth.

A warmth that seemed to swallow her entire body, numbing her to the outside world and encasing her entirely.

Little by little, she felt the feeling return to her limbs and realised – with surprise- that she was standing on solid ground.  
Daring herself to open her eyes, Cassidy found herself staring at the very hotel that they had just jumped from.

"Wh-what…?"  
She looked around, realising that she was still holding Stan's hand.  
Stan was still holding Abbie's hand.  
In fact they were all lined up exactly as they had been before the jump, all standing on the footpath, across the road, opposite the hotel.

It wasn't long before they were all looking around quizzically too.  
"Huh?" Stan opened his eyes fully, blinking and shaking his head. "How the heck did we get here? Didn't we just jump off the roof of the hotel?"

Edmund shuddered, running both hands through his hair. "That was the most bizarre feeling I've ever felt. For a second, I thought I was going to die and then…then I open my eyes and I'm standing here…"

The doctor released Abbie and Clara's hands looking around for a moment and then grinning widely, punching the air with delight. "We did it! Ha-ha! It worked! It actually worked!" He bent down and swooped Abbie up in a tight hug. "You are a super star, Abigail Drake! Never forget that!"

Clara opened her eyes and let out a long sigh of relief before rounding on the doctor.  
"Did you just say "it actually worked"?!" She gave him a hard slap on the arm. "You mean you weren't sure whether it would or not?"  
The doctor straightened up, giving Clara an equally tight hug. "Of course I was sure. There was no way I would have let the rest of you jump if I had any doubt in my mind…" He parted from his companion, shrugging with a grin. "But it's nice to celebrate, all the same."

"Shouldn't we start running?" Edmund asked, looking at the others in the group. "From the Angels, I mean. Won't they be coming after us?"  
"You really haven't been paying an ounce of attention, have you, Eddie?" the doctor mock-goaded, chuckling. "We won't have to worry about any of those Angels any more. No one will."

"What's happening to the hotel?" Abbie suddenly chirped, pointing up at the building across the road.  
Five pairs of eyes swivelled around to join hers.

The once-majestic building now appeared to be decaying right before their very eyes. A whitish light swirled in a hazy fog around its red-brick walls, coating the windows and lapping against the ornamental gargoyles that adorned its name-plaque.  
Bit by bit, the Summer Bank hotel appeared to be fading away into a mist.  
Disappearing into the night as the sky darkened above it.

"We created a paradox. The Angels' feeding ground has been poisoned. The Summer Bank hotel will have either never existed or will at least never have come under the Angels' control. It's starting to return to the form it was in before the Angels found it…"  
"What about the other people inside?" the little girl asked with concern.  
"They'll go back to their lives as if they were never taken by the Angels in the first place, Abbie. They won't remember anything."

"Why aren't I disappearing too?" Stan interjected. "And I don't mean to contradict you, doctor but I can remember everything just fine…"  
"You've had contact with raw time energy, Stan. You've stepped outside of the Angels' artificial time-loop. Thus, your memories will be unaffected." He smiled to the black-haired man. "Don't worry though. We'll get you home safe and sound."

"…and the Angels?" Cassidy found herself asking, almost hesitantly.  
"They'll all die. Their food source has been contaminated."  
"Even…?"  
"Yes, if he's been feeding off of the Summer Bank's food reserves, Michael will die too." The doctor looked sideways at Cassidy, giving her a curt nod. "He'll be gone."

The blonde-haired archaeologist nodded, unsure of her own feelings for a moment.

"Right then," the doctor said with a cough. "We'd best get everyone home. To the TARDIS!"

As the group started to walk away, (Edmund and Stan laughing and chattering about how they planned to celebrate their "Great Escape" when they got home and Abbie clutching both Clara and the doctor's hands, already asking one hundred and one questions about what she had just undergone), Cassidy found herself looking over her shoulder at the vanishing building behind her.

"So you'll be gone," she murmured to herself. "That's the end."  
Her eyes slowly wandered up to look at the Los Angeles night-sky: she was free at last.

So why did she still feel like a prisoner?  
As her hands rooted through the pockets of her shorts, her mind seemed to root through her memories- pulling very specific ones to the surface.  
The first time she had seen Michael in the forest. The joy that she had felt at her find. The wonder that she had been ignited in her in the wake of his beauty, the magnificence of his body.  
All the hours she had spent restoring him and repairing him.  
All the hours that she had spent talking to him as she worked on him, completely unaware that he had been able to hear every word that she said.  
The solstice that she had found in caring for him.  
All the times that she had dreamt of him coming to life.  
All the times that she had felt his eyes on her when her back was turned.  
The roses that he had left for her.  
The shock that she had felt on the night that he first revealed his true nature to her.  
The terror that he could inspire in her.  
The control that he exercised over her.  
The starvation.  
The isolation.  
The fear.  
The torture.

The necklace.

Michael glowering at her.  
Michael stroking her.  
Michael scratching her.  
Michael touching her.  
Michael hitting her.  
Michael saving her from Kyrie.  
Michael holding her shoulders in the elevator, her back pressed against his chest.  
Michael looking at her.  
Michael talking to her.  
Michael teasing her as she repaired him.  
Michael leering at her.  
Michael holding her in his arms.  
Michael threatening her.  
Michael running his fingertips along her face.  
Michael shouting commands at her.  
Michael laughing after she told him the Greek myth.  
Michael laughing cruelly at her as he humiliated her before the other Angels.  
Michael whispering in her ear.  
Michael force-feeding her.  
Michael praising her physical appearance.  
Michael choking her.  
Michael kissing her…

Her fingers sifted frantically through the wad of paper that she had pulled from her pocket.  
She rifled through the letters that she had written in the hotel room and pulled out the one that she had written to the Weeping Archangel.

"_Why did you do this to me, you monster? Why can't you just leave me alone? Why can't you just let me hate you? " _

She pulled the letter from the bunch and stuffed the other letters into her pocket before scrunching Michael's letter in her fist and tossing it on to the side-walk.  
She repeated the words that she had said on the rooftop under her breath, this time trying to make them sound as firm and unfeeling as possible.

"Goodbye, Michael."

For a moment, she believed in her own determination.  
She believed that she actually meant what she said.  
Despite the feeling of the chains that had once been attached to her wrists- like phantom limbs- still here and still tingling against her skin.  
Still keeping her shackled to him.

The doctor led them to an alleyway and Cassidy blinked in surprise, noticing a blue police box standing there- just like the one from that she had seen in the graveyard on the day of Louisa's funeral.

She watched as the doctor disappeared inside it, tugging Clara and Abbie in after him.

"What the-?"  
Truthfully, she_ had_ been wondering how exactly the doctor planned to take them all back home and to their relevant time-zones.  
The doctor had already told her that he was some kind of time traveller over the phone.  
Cassidy caught up with Edmund and Stan, shaking her head as she approached the blue box- no bigger than a public telephone booth.

Maybe she had been expecting something along the lines of Hermione's enchanted hour glass or a Back to the Future, Doc Brown style DeLorean or leaping through a magical portal a la The Girl Who Leapt Through Time…but this box didn't exactly strike her as a particularly believable means of time travel.

"We're hardly all even gonna fit in that thing," Stan pointed out with a snort, seemingly sharing Cassidy's scepticism.

"Oh just you wait," Edmund grinned, catching the door handle and ushering them both inside.

"Sweet mother of-…"  
"Oh God."

Both Stan and Cassidy could only manage a few breathless stammers as they walked into the TARDIS, the two of them looking from its polished panel floors to its high, arching ceiling to its strange but absolutely wonderful control deck with shock and amazement.

"But this was…"  
"…and now it's bigger…"

"Yes, yes," the doctor called over from the main control panel. "Welcome to my TARDIS. She's very beautiful. Nobody touch anything…"  
A loud whirring sound erupted from the centre of the great time machine as the mechanisms above the control panel began to pump and illuminate. There was the sudden grinding of metal accompanied by an almighty _thunk_ from above them and suddenly the entire room began to shake.

Cassidy stumbled, feeling the floor beneath her feet starting to vibrate.  
Clara caught her eye and beckoned for her to catch a hold of the railing that surrounded the control panel. "Whatever about his "don't touch anything" rule. You're going to want to hold on to something…"

Instinctively, Cassidy nodded and grabbed the railing.  
Following suit, Edmund latched on to a nearby pipe of some kind and Stan wedged himself in an alcove in the walls.  
Abbie was simply content to continue holding on to the doctor's left leg.

It took a few minutes for the TARDIS to steady up and it was only when vicious vibrating beneath the floor had dulled to a low purr that the doctor stood up straight once more.  
"Ok then everyone. It looks like it's smooth sailing from here on out so…make yourselves comfortable, I suppose…"

* * *

It was her first time ever in a real life time machine.  
Not to mention, she had just escaped a pack of ruthless, murderous alien statues.

She should have been celebrating with the others.  
She should have been poking around the TARDIS, exploring the different rooms and examining every inch of its beguiling design.  
She should have been drinking tea and eating cake without a care in the world.

Not standing with her forehead pressed against a wall in one of the TARDIS' more secluded corridors.  
Cassidy took another deep breath, listening to the sounds of her own shaky inhalation.

"Relax," she told herself. "Just relax. You'll be home soon. You'll get to see your mum soon. Everything will be fine. Stop worrying."

She turned around to press her back into the wall and slowly slid downwards until she was sitting on the floor, nursing her head in both hands.

"Cassy!"  
She heard Abbie's excited squeal and opened her eyes at the feeling of the little girl tugging on the sleeve of her coat. "Come on, Cassy. The doctor has bunk beds and he's going to let me jump on the top bunk! Come on and look!"

She looked at the little girl blearily and gave her a weak smile. "Abbie, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling too great at the moment. I'll come down and join you in a second, alright?"

"No, now!" Abbie pouted. "If you have a tummy ache, the doctor can give you medicines because he's a doctor. Now come on!"

"I think Cassidy just needs to have some quiet time for a bit," came Clara's voice from above them both and Cassidy looked up to see the young woman taking the boisterous little red head's hand. "Some people can get time-travel-sick, the same way you can get carsick or sea-sick." She smiled warmly. "I'm sure Cassidy will join us as soon as she starts to feel better, alright, Abbie?"

"Ok," the little girl sighed before rubbing her face against Cassidy's arm. "Get better soon, Cassy."

"I'll try to."  
She looked up to meet Clara's sympathetic gaze properly and gave her a grateful smile, watching as the two of them disappeared down a far corridor.

It wasn't long after they left when Cassidy's quiet reverie was broken once more.

"Hey there, stranger. Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to see Stanley P. Quinn standing over her.

She shrugged. "Yeah, sure. If you'd like."

Stan crouched to squat down beside her, his elbows resting on his knees.

"You ok, Cass?"  
"I'll be fine…my head's just a little sore at the moment and my stomach's all over the place."  
He grimaced. "I know the feeling. Feels so damn weird to be out of that hotel. It's gonna take three or four days for my appetite to come back and I know I ain't gonna sleep well for the first few nights back home…" The man grunted, annoyed but then suddenly burst into peals of gruff laughter.

Cassidy looked at him. "What's so funny?"

He shrugged, looking back at her. "Well it's not _that_ funny or anything. Just feels a little odd, I guess."  
"What does?"  
"To be talking to you without a wall between us."  
Cassidy smiled as the thought dawned on her too. "Yeah, I guess that is a little odd."  
"It's like I've known you forever but I've only actually seen you once or twice…"

"Thank you, Stan," she said suddenly. "Seriously. Thank you."  
"Hm?"  
"Thanks for being there for me to talk to. If I hadn't had you to talk with me about what I was going through and if I hadn't had you for human contact at all…I probably would have gone insane in that hotel room…"  
Stan's eyebrows raised and he shook his head. "Hell, Cass. If anything, I should be thanking _you_. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead right now. Literally. I mean, on the day we first met, I was ready to commit suicide just to escape that place…but then you saved my life…you gave me back my hope…reminded me that there were still good people in the world…"

"Funny," she said softly. "You reminded me of that too."

She reached up to give her dear friend another hug, taking in his scent this time.  
He smelled faintly of stale sweat and the innards of that hellish hotel but Cassidy didn't care.  
What mattered was that he was real and that he was there.

"The doctor said that we'll be reaching North Carolina first. In my time. I always figured my mama would be freaking out wondering where I've been for a whole year but the doctor said he'll try to get me back as close to the day that I disappeared as possible." He shrugged, parting from her. "So I might not have _too_ much explaining to do."

"Do you have many plans for when you get back?"

"Gonna hang out with old friends, spend time with mama and write to pops…probably go back to college for the next semester. I was studying law but when I was doing odd jobs in 1920s L.A., I really got into tinkering around with cars and stuff. The doctor was suggesting that I should get into engineering…Any plans yourself?"

Cassidy sighed. "Go back to working at the museum…maybe. I was suspended from work just before I left pending an incident with Michael. I don't know where I stand with the Curator at the moment. I guess I also want to spend time with my mum…she's pretty sick though…she might not be up to doing much at the moment…"

"That's rough, Cass," Stan murmured his eyebrows arching. "I really wish I could help you out somehow." He looked down slightly. "I can't believe that this is the last time I'm ever going to see you…"  
Stan frowned, his head hanging for a moment before he suddenly brightened up, something dawning on him. "Hey, what's your address? I can write to you, can't I? Send you a letter in the future?"

Cassidy blinked, her brow furrowing. "That could be kind of confusing…and messy…" She looked up at the man beside her, an uncontrollable smile breaking across her face. "But I'd really, really like that…"

* * *

After an emotional farewell to Stan, Cassidy found herself sitting at a table somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS, recovering from a v_ery _competitive pillow fight, (Team Doctor and Abbie Vs Team Everyone Else) and having a cup of tea with Edmund.

"So how were things at the museum after I left?" she asked rather hesitantly, reluctant to know the answer but feeling that she needed to put the question to him. "Everyone whispering about me already?"

"Well, y-…not really," Edmund said quickly, sipping at his tea. "Obviously people were wondering what exactly happened and why you were suspended. Most people just bought into the story that you got drunk after Leon turned you down and messed with a display or something." His lip twitched and he shrugged. "And then after Michael disappeared, there were a few stupid rumours about you, Darrow and Hewitt banding together to steal it…Michael came back in the meantime though…and then disappeared again, I suppose… so I don't know what they're all saying now…"

Cassidy groaned, running both hands through her hair and leaning forward on the table.  
"For Christ's sake, this is not fair."

Edmund placed a comforting hand on one of Cassidy's arms. "No, it's not fair but like I said, they're all just stupid rumours. Stupid, pathetic rumours. Nobody can prove anything and all the gossip will die down sooner or later…"

She took a breath, knuckling her temples. "I really hope so."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Cassidy looked up from her hands.  
A single, comforting thought had just occurred to her and it prompted her to give Edmund a small smile.  
"You came. You came to find me with the doctor and Clara."

"Of course I did," he said, mirroring her smile and pushing his glasses up and along his nose. "We've had our silly tiffs before but you're still my friend, Cass."  
"That's good to know. I guess I've always considered you to be more of a friend than a co-worker…even with the rivalries…and even though I've always been a little jealous of you."  
"Jealous? Of me?"  
"Yes, of course. I mean you've got a higher ranking job than me at the museum, you've got such a good reputation for being one of the best dig co-ordinators, team leaders and public relations officers that the museum has ever seen. Not to mention the fact that Stanford loves you…"  
Edmund waved a hand. "Yeah but you're the college girl who went from being a rookie to being Hewitt's apprentice in the space of a few months. And Hewitt _always_ liked you better than me." He chuckled. "Look at the two of us, measuring pricks like a pair of schoolboys."

Cassidy laughed into her teacup, almost spitting up the mouthful.

When she had safely swallowed the tea down, she gave Edmund Potter a grin. "Either way, I'm rather happy that you came. It's nice to see a familiar face after all of this…"

Edmund smiled but then heaved a sigh, shaking his head.  
"I am such a complete and utter prat, Cass. I'm so sorry for not believing you. I keep thinking that if I had believed you about the statue from the very start and had stayed with you that day, maybe…"

"There was nothing you could have done," Cassidy told him softly. "Michael would have come for me either way and I would have never forgiven myself if he'd hurt you for getting in the way." She smiled, putting her teacup down. "And you came after me. You came looking for me. That's what matters. That makes up for it."

* * *

"So you're really an alien too, then?"

"I am."  
"Wow."

Cassidy stood by the control deck, standing next to the doctor as the two of them spoke.

"Thank you," she told him hesitantly. "Seriously, thank you so much for saving me. If you hadn't come when you did…" Her voice started to crack. "I don't know what he would have done…"

The doctor put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I'm just so, so sorry that I couldn't have been there sooner. I was almost too late."  
The man exuded warmth, his every word seemed to put her at her ease and it just about killed her to hear him sounding so forlorn.

"Doctor, it's alright. You weren't too late," she said, sniffing a little. "And even then, I shouldn't have been dependent on you. I should have fought back harder. I-…"

"No, Cassidy," the doctor said suddenly, pulling her sideways slightly to look at him. " This was not your fault. Nothing that he did was your fault." His bright eyes were burning with intensity. "Don't ever think that this was in any way your fault…"

Her own eyes fell downwards.  
"Why me? I mean…why did he choose me? He definitely had access to other humans so why not choose one of them?"

The doctor frowned, rubbing his forehead.  
"It's hard to say with situations like this. Some things happen to people because they need it. Some things happen to people because the very fabric of the universe says so. And then in your case, some things just happen to people because they end up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She nodded slowly, trying to bring herself to understand before looking back up at the doctor again.  
"Was that really a coincidence then? The day that you met me in the graveyard at Louisa's funeral?"

The doctor smiled faintly, running his hands along the TARDIS' polished control belt.  
"I was actually trying to get to Spain in the 1960s. I promised Clara I'd introduce her to the famous architect, Gaudí. But if there's one thing that I've learned is that this old girl…" He gave the panel an affectionate tap. "Often takes me where I _need_ to go, rather than where I want to go."

"You said that you met me before…in my future…does that mean that I'll see you again?"

"Yes. Well, no. Well, yes _and_ no._ You'll_ see _me _again. It'll be the first time that I've met you. I won't look like _this_ though." He gestured to his entire body with a chuckle. "I'll look like a completely different man. Just be ready for a house-call from a man called John Smith. Oh and just a quick note for your future reference- I don't like pears. Not at all."

"Ah," she replied with a nod, not quite sure how to receive this information but mentally logging it away, all the same. "Right…er…will I ever see you looking like this, again?"

"Perhaps. Rather unlikely I'm afraid. But perhaps. The future is a vast and crazy thing. I just don't have any other memories or footnotes of ever having met you again so if we do cross paths again, Miss Albright, it will be in both of our futures.

"Doctor," Cassidy murmured quietly, mentally preparing herself the question that she had been longing to ask for quite some time now. "You're a time traveller and this time machine could take us anywhere in time that we wanted to go?"

"Yes and theoretically. Why? Some major historical event that you've always wanted to see?"

"If I could remember the exact date, time and area where I found Michael in Sherwood Forest, is there any way that we could…?"

"I can't prevent you from ever having met that Weeping Angel," the doctor said, looking rather crestfallen, his voice becoming quite sombre. "I'm sorry, Cass, but there are some events in history that are…_fixed._ They have to happen. I don't quite know why yet but…you and Michael meeting…that is one of those events…It can't be changed."

Cassidy nodded.  
She should have known such an opportunity would be too good to be true.  
"And Louisa's death? My friend from the museum?"  
"…I'm sorry, Cass."  
"That's alright, doctor." She forced herself to smile, patting the doctor on the arm. "You know, I'm aware we haven't parted ways yet but I already can't wait to see you again. It's not every day that one meets a real time traveller…"

The Time Lord looked at her sideways and gave her a wry smile. "Don't go making me blush now."

A few conversations and cups of tea later, the TARDIS finally touched down in the front yard of Cassidy Albright's home in Oakside.  
She bid the doctor, Clara, Abbie and Edmund farewell, (and "see you on Monday" as necessary), before stepping out of the door of the blue box and back on to British soil- in her own era no less- for the first time in over a month.

She watched in both shock and wonder as the TARDIS whirred to life once more behind her and in a few pulses, faded away completely, vanishing.

It took her a few solid minutes to recover from having seen what she had seen.

She turned to face her house, her feet crunching in the gravel beneath as a cold wind drew across her, causing her to shiver.

Cassidy Albright looked up at the sky, feeling nothing but that cold wind for a moment.

"It's finally over," she whispered. "You're finally gone."

Then she felt it.  
The terrible void.  
The sudden, terrifying emptiness.  
The phantom chains pulling on her again.

A warm tear slid down her cheek as she hung her head.

This was wrong.  
She knew she shouldn't feel that way.

Another tear joined the first.  
Feeling a pain in her chest, Cassidy dropped her head.

Her voice was nothing more than a shaky, breathless whisper.

"I could have gone my entire life without knowing how it would feel to kiss you…"

* * *

_She lied. _

_She lied. _

_She had said that she wanted nothing more than for the two of them to be together. _

_Yet when given the chance to leave with him, she fled. _

_She had betrayed him. _

_She lied. _

_Though the way she had embraced him, the way her body moved to become one with his own…_

_There was no way to disguise that. _

_He had felt her rapid heartbeat, the scent of yearning, fresh on her skin…_

_Perhaps he was not the one that she had lied to. _

_Either way, he knew that he had been vastly underestimated. _

Emerging from the wreckage of the Summer Bank, he desperately searched for her time signature- the imprint that would tell him where she had been taken.  
While searching, he noticed a piece of paper that had ridden the night-time air to become entangled with the lower folds of his toga.

Growling with annoyance, he moved to flick the offending document away, only to notice the name that she had given him written in human tongue on the page.

He freed the paper and held it up to scan it.  
His kind were intelligent.  
Fast learners.  
Learning the coded, written speech of humans had been easy to him.

He realised that it was a letter.  
A written communication from _her.  
_

He read it and re-read it, taking in her words and processing them.

"_Your prisoner,  
Cassidy…" _

After his final reading, he crushed the paper in his fist, letting it fall to the ground.

She _was _his prisoner.  
She would always be his prisoner.

And if that meddling doctor and his companions thought that he was going to give her up so easily…

….they were sorely mistaken.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! :D  
Next chapter is already in the works and will be on its way soon!**


	16. XVI

**Once again, I am so utterly humbled by the reviews that this story has gotten and thank you so much to everyone for your awesome praise, suggestions, input, critiques and opinions.  
I wish I could just give you all a jellybean right now.  
Obviously not a red one though. XD **

**Anywho, allons-y! Geronimo!  
Chapter sixteen is nigh! **

* * *

Another cold wind cut all but cut through Cassidy as she stood shivering in her driveway- finally having returned to Oakside, London, England.  
A raging tide of relief crashed over her at the sight of her house. For so many days, held against her will, she had been desperately homesick in its wake and now she was finally home once more.  
Simple, short footsteps away from the front porch of her house.  
Yet even though it had only been seconds since the TARDIS had faded away into thin air and she missed _its_ warmth already.

The wind continued sweep over the released captive in icy gusts, as though reminding her that she was in early Winter England once more and providing her with some kind of cynical, back-handed "welcome home."  
She wrapped her arms around herself, cradling her goose-pimpled arms and suddenly deciding that she missed the doctor's trench coat too.

Despite the harsh temperature and less-than-comforting weather, Cassidy allowed a feeling of warmth to pool in her stomach.  
"At least I'm not suffocating and being scorched to death by sunlight," she muttered to herself. "I'd rather this any day over being back in that hotel room…"

The warmth suddenly drained from her stomach as her memories from Summer Bank began to trickle back into the corners of her mind- filling her with nausea and unease.  
No, Cassidy was not ready to start saying anything about her experiences aloud.  
Not even to herself.  
Not yet.

The wind was getting stronger now: as though it was urging her to walk up the steps of the porch and into her house.  
_"Why aren't I already inside?" _she thought, eyeballing the front door as though it were the pearly gates of Heaven. _"I told myself that I'd be running up to the house, kissing the doormat when I finally got home…why haven't I gone inside yet?" _

Her body felt stiff and sore as well as being cold, not to mention the terrible fear to move that overcame her. She looked around, her eyes desperately searching the sheltered front garden, gravel path and small, country road that were at her back as though expecting to see someone watching her.  
Waiting for her.  
The paranoia was nothing short of killing.

The absence of having to constantly look over her shoulder, in fear of murderous hoards of Weeping Angels, felt strange to her.  
Not to mention the absence of having to worry about the particular Lonely Assassin who had almost all but destroyed her.

"Michael," she dared herself to whisper aloud, calling upon the demon in Angel's garb by the name that she had chosen for him.  
For a frightening second, she almost fooled herself that he would come when she called.  
But the silent, shivering seconds ticked by and he did not come.  
Why would he?  
After all, the Weeping Archangel known as Michael- her once beloved project and fated kidnapper- was dead.

She would never look over her shoulder, wake up or even open her eyes to see him again.

No matter how she framed that information in her own mind, there was no way that she could change the way it made her feel.  
A great weight had been lifted from her shoulders yet something still sat heavy in her heart.

For a brief second, she thought she glimpsed a silhouette of some kind out of the corner of one eye.  
Suddenly breathing heavily, Cassidy whipped her head around- her head throbbing and her heart hammering- only to see nothing but an empty stretch of grass and a sprightly young birch tree, bending to the will of the wind.

"Forget it, Cass," she told herself. "Just fucking let go. You heard the doctor. He told you that this was over. Just let it be over." Swallowing and willing herself to look back up at the house, she took in the familiar sight of the whitewashed red-brick, high-arching windows and jingling wind-chimes dangling from the porch's gently sloping roof.  
Slowly, her thoughts began to turn to more welcome, important matters.

"Mum," Cassidy murmured, forcing her quaking legs to start walking towards the house. Seeing her mother would make everything so much better. Throughout her entire ordeal in Summer Bank, it had been thoughts of her mother that had aided Cassidy in her emotional survival.  
Now, she was finally within reach of her real guardian angel once more.

For the first time, she took stock of the fact that Nancy's trusty Fiat Panda was parked in the lower end of the driveway.  
Nancy had probably only just dropped Maria Albright back to the house.

Had she been in hospital the entire time while her daughter had been away?  
Cassidy wondered this with a furrowed brow, starting to hope that her mother's medical consultations hadn't been _too _strenuous while she was gone.  
Either way, she was back now and ready to provide some long overdue support.

She made her way up to the steps of the porch and to the doorway.  
The old doorbell system wasn't quite what it used to be and even after various treatments from repair men and women, it continued to be rather sporadic in volume, (Cassidy and Maria Albright privately blamed the friendly but disgruntled Victorian ghosts whom they had decided roamed the house at night). The brass door-knocker, while beautiful, was also on its last legs- often threatening to fall from his hinges if an unsuspecting visitor placed so much as a finger upon its ornamented latch.  
Despite that, Cassidy's mother could never bring herself to replace it.  
"It's falling apart at the edges and a bit on the shabby side but still quite the looker," the woman had laughed. "Just like me."

Using this trail of memories to put her mind back at ease, Cassidy stooped look for the spare house key- finding it in its usual hiding place: under the porcelain sphinx.  
Ever since their first holiday to Cairo when Cassidy was nine, a proud, blue ornamental sphinx statue had guarded the door to their house, enjoying a position of great dignity between the flower pots.  
Both she and her mother had decided that the sphinx had been a far better choice of guardian than a mere garden gnome.  
After all, garden gnomes were far too closely related to goblins to be considered trustworthy- as far as little Cassidy was concerned.  
"And if the great sphinx was good enough for the pharaohs," they had firmly agreed. "It's more than good enough for us."

The sphinx statue also had the dual role of guarding the spare house-key, which was always hidden underneath her polished underside.

Her fingers slightly clumsy as she fumbled with the lock of the door, Cassidy blinked when she noticed something brush against her foot.  
Something was strewn across the doormat.  
She looked down and the sight of a slender, green stem shot bolts of panic from her mouth to her stomach, the key suddenly threatening to fall from her now bloodless fingers.

_A rose? A rose. The rose. One of the roses. One of the roses that he would leave for her. Not Louisa. Not Leon. He was here? But __**was**__ he here? Where was he? Why wasn't he dead?! _

She fearfully dared herself to look down again.  
No.  
No single roses.  
Just a bouquet.

A regular bouquet of white carnations, wrapped in standard flower-shop plastic sheets and more likely intended to be a "Get Well Soon" gift for her mother.

"I can't even bloody well look at flowers anymore," she thought, near bitterly, taking up the bouquet and unlocking the door. "Come on, Cassidy. You're home. Be happy. Get on with your life."  
With this tiny piece of self-motivation, she twisted the key and stepped inside.

The scent of home filled her nostrils and instantly, a greatly missed warmth washed over her.  
She quickly decided against calling out to announce her presence, wanting to spare her mother the sudden shock of her homecoming and choosing instead to savour the sight of the main hallway.  
Her eyes drifted from the rustic iron coat-rack to the woven Navajo rug on the floor to the polished foot of the stairs, finally falling upon the cat-shaped paperweight that lay on the floor beside the hall-table.  
It was a seven year old Cassidy Albright's crudely made birthday gift to her mother, courtesy of a summer camp arts and crafts session.

Despite her sheepish protests that it wasn't half as good as the other children in her group's works of art, Maria Albright had insisted upon giving it a place of honour in the house.

"People picked apart Pablo Picasso's work because it was a little rough around the edges," she had pointed out, running her fingers along the cat's earthenware back. "And now he's considered a genius and ahead of his time."

Though she still had to concede that her sculpted tabby was no "Guernica", her mother's words filled the little girl with enough pride in her own work to put a smile on her face once more.

Putting the bouquet aside, she lifted the little pottery-kitten from the floor. Cassidy cradled it in the palm of her hand, running her thumb along its poorly shaped back.  
The paperweight meant so much more to her than an excuse to think that she was a co-ordinated artist as a kid. It was a sign of a mother's faith in her daughter and the memory had been a pulling factor in her choice to specialise in pottery and statues while studying archaeology.  
Cassidy traced its clefted, nail-mark features with the tip her little finger.  
"I'm home…miss me?"

As though something within the house sought to answer her, Cassidy heard noise coming from down the hall and for the first time, noticed that the light was on in the kitchen.  
Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, she made her way to the half-open door.  
Following the familiar whirr and click of an old kettle wheezing itself to life.

What would she tell her mum?  
What would her mother say?  
She had been missing for days without any way of contacting her.

Cassidy took a deep breath, attempting to slow her heart rate and bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation.  
Her entire ordeal- her waking nightmare- at the Summer Bank and all that had surrounded it, had trained her to become a good liar in situations of high pressure.  
Maybe if she concocted some kind of tale about needing space following Louisa's death? Maybe if she finally told her mother about being suspended from work?

Her stomach felt sour.  
Cassidy _hated_ making up false excuses for her own short-comings. Though she considered herself to be risk-aversive, she also preferred to take her punishments where they were deserved.

Maybe in time, she would be able to tell her mother the true story behind her disappearance.  
About the doctor.  
About Michael.  
About everything.  
If anyone would believe her, Cassidy consoled herself- giving the clay paperweight in her hand a squeeze, it would be the woman who had always believed in her.

Taking a final deep breath, she placed a hand on the wood panel door of the kitchen and pushed it open.  
"H-Hey," she said, coughing slightly, walking inside. "I…"

"_Cassidy?" _

Cassidy stopped dead in her tracks, her voice failing in her mouth.  
There was someone in the kitchen, sitting at the table- just as she had expected there to be.

But it wasn't her mother.

Leaning on the table, her long, fair hair tied up in a nest-like, messy bun and with a cup of steaming tea in front of her, was Cassidy's cousin Nancy.  
Her first cousin and the only cousin that Cassidy had ever been made aware of.  
A long-time worker at London's busiest hospital and her mother's personal nurse.  
But her mother was nowhere to be seen.

"Cassidy?!" Nancy exclaimed again, her sleep-shadowed eyes wide and staring. "Y-you...What are you…? Everyone thought that you… But now you're here…"

"Nancy," Cassidy said quietly, nodding as she looked around the kitchen and swallowed. "Hi. How have you been? Is Mum upstairs sleeping?"

Nancy continued to gawp at her younger cousin, her voice as incredulous as it was hoarse. "Jesus Christ, Cassidy. You look fucking awful…" She looked her up and down, taking in her pale, thin, rather scruffy and grimy appearance and regarding her as though she were a ghost.

"Yes, I know. Look, I've been…"

"Where the _fuck_ have you been all this time?" Nancy's features contorted, quickly changing from shock to rage. The woman's knuckles turned milky as she gripped the rim of her mug.

Cassidy blinked, taken aback at her cousin's sudden anger. "Nan, I'm sorry. I know I…" She lifted her hands, inhaling. "I know that I've been gone for a while but let me explain."

"Explain?! Explain what?! Explain how you just fucking _vanished_ from the face of the earth and left all of us here to do nothing but fucking worry about you?! Fine! _Fine! _Fucking explain that, Cass. Please do!"

Cassidy's eyebrows shot upward. "Relax, Nan. I can explain this. I've only been gone for a few days. Just let me talk to mum first and I'll tell you everything, alright?"

"A few days?"  
Nancy rolled her eyes, shaking her head and wringing her hands. "A few days? That's what you call it?" Her voice began to rise in volume, becoming shakier and shakier with each increased decibel. "Cassidy! You've been gone for over three bloody weeks!"

"Three w_eeks_!?" The bottom just about dropped out of Cassidy's stomach.  
That murderous Archangel hadn't kept her for that long, had he?  
Granted her perception of time in the Summer Bank Hotel had been torn to shreds, but she knew that she couldn't have spent more than a week in that room- even if it had felt like longer.  
Had the doctor taken her back to her own time a few days late?  
Or a few _weeks_ late?

"I tried to call you! I called you every bloody day!" Nancy continued to shriek. "I sent you text messages and e-mails by the caseload and I got no fucking response! Not once! Where the fuck were you?! Everyone thought that you were in some kind of trouble!"

"I…I don't understand…I…"

"I fucking called the Museum and after three godforsaken days of calling, I finally got through to that damn curator who tells me that you were suspended from work weeks ago for your drunken behaviour at your presentation!"

"I…Nancy…I wasn't…"

"Apparently you never turned up for your hearing in front of the board of directors so your suspension was extended! With all the fucking disappearances going on around the museum, everyone thought that you'd been abducted too! And then all these crazy rumours about you being an art thief and having run off with Dr Hewitt…"

Cassidy's mouth was dry and a cold sweat had started to form along her hairline.  
She stared into her cousin's eyes, seeing the tears there and shaking her head with disbelief.  
This was not what she had wanted to come home to.

"None…n-none of that is true. I just had to go…" Her voice failed her again.  
What was she supposed to tell Nancy?  
What _could_ she tell her?

"Just had to go? That's your fucking excuse?! Just had to go w_here_ exactly?!"  
Nancy slammed her mug down upon the wood of the table.  
Cassidy couldn't help but feel that her cousin wanted to slam _her_ down against something too.

"Where is my mum?" Cassidy asked for the second time.

"She had to be confined in hospital after she got worse, Cassidy! _I _had to be the one to sit with her! _I _was the one who had to tell her that everything was alright!" She gave a loud bark of cynical laughter. "And sometimes when she got delirious and panicked, all she'd do was ask for you! And I didn't have the heart to tell her that her daughter was off God-knows-where doing God-knows-what with God-knows-fucking-who!" Tears were starting to glisten in the corners of her eyes. "Sometimes when she was so doped up on painkilling medication, I actually had to _pretend_ to be you, just to keep that poor woman sane! Do you have any fucking idea what you put her through?"

Cassidy's heart was beating so quickly that it felt like single vibration in the depths of her quivering chest.  
Or maybe she was so overtaken by shock that it had stopped beating altogether.  
At that moment in time, the young archaeologist couldn't tell.

"I had to call the fucking police! Couldn't even tell your mum that there was a search being made for you. I was too afraid that it'd bloody put her into shock…and I told myself that if you were still alive and had no good reason for not coming back, I wouldn't forgive you…now you just show up and…"

A terrifying, nauseating kind of fear swept over her as she put the question to her cousin once more.

"Nancy. Where's my mum?"

Her cousin took a shaky breath, looking downwards and biting her lower lip. A long, uneasy, frightening silence settled between them.  
Finally, she looked up.

"Maria is dead, Cassidy."

A ringing began in the inner-part of Cassidy's ears, slowly growing louder and louder as her chest heaved faster and faster, breathing quickly becoming a torturous ordeal.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. _

Nancy stood up, still looking at her with the same grim, half-tearful expression.  
"I'm sorry, Cassidy. Your mum is dead and buried as of five days. You missed the funeral."

The cat-shaped paperweight slipped from Cassidy's hand, falling to the floor and shattering into meaningless, jagged pieces on the tiles.  
In another time and another place, she might have cried out.  
Stooped.  
Rushed to clean it up.  
To fix it up.  
Put it back together again.

But she knew she'd never put it back together again.

Cassidy knew that it didn't matter anymore.  
Nothing did.

* * *

In a rare moment of peace, Clara Oswin Oswald found herself wandering alone through the labyrinth-like corridors of the TARDIS.  
It was just over an hour after they had dropped Edmund Potter and Abigail Drake off at their respective home addresses, following garbled goodbyes and a final, wide-eyed gawk at the TARDIS' fantastic control panel.

The doctor had been oddly quiet following the departure of their last two refugees.  
In fact, in stark contrast to his usual nigh-unstoppable banter and babble, the Time Lord had been near silent as he pandered around the TARDIS' main deck.  
Clara had to drag speech from him and even when she did finally manage to get him talking, his conversation was watery and vague.

In another strange, uncharacteristic contrast to their established normality, the doctor also seemed very unwilling to discuss the details that day's adventure with his companion.

"That was nice, wasn't it? That Edmund said he'd look out for Cassidy at work, I mean. It's great to know that she's already got people prepared to look after her?"  
"Hmmph…look after her…indeed…" He blinked, lifting his head. "Look after _who_?"

"_Cassidy_, doctor. You know, the girl you spent weeks researching, days trying to save and just managed to succeed in doing so?"  
"Ah…yes."  
"That was a narrow escape, wasn't it?"  
"Mhmm."  
"One of your better ones? Or have you got a story to top it?"  
"Hnn…"  
"Almost caught by a vicious tribe of time-travelling, living, humanoid statues and narrowly evaded them by leaping from the roof of a twelve-storey building. That's going to be a hard one to beat, I suppose…"

"Hmm."  
"Doctor?"

The Time Lord did not answer her, instead choosing to fumble around in the tweed folds of his jacket, mumbling to himself.

"Doctor?" Clara repeated, her voice now weighted with a heady mixture of annoyance and concern. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?" He looked up at her again. "Ah yes. Of course. Do excuse me. I'll be back later. Just need to check something. Something to do with the TARDIS and her inner workings. Very technical. Re-calibrating the flandemordial phanatrix and what not else. I should be back in an hour. Entertain yourself however you see fit…"

Clara truly did not know which to be more shocked by- the dry, toneless way that he had spoken to her or the abruptness with which he had left her side.

She had never seen the doctor so unwilling to talk to her before.  
But even though his behaviour had been rather strange surrounding the time of Cassidy Albright's abduction and throughout their entire rescue mission, Clara couldn't help but nervously feel that she had somehow contributed to his sudden standoffishness.  
Fearing that she'd only spur this behaviour to further extremes, she decided against following him.  
After all, the doctor knew best.  
In her own general experience anyway.

Instead, she had decided to busy herself by rootling through some of the doctors' old trunks and boxes, left open around the main deck.  
"So messy," Clara had tutted to herself, smiling slightly and starting to sift through an old dress-trunk of jackets. "And what a bizarre wardrobe you have, doctor. I can't tell whether your fashion sense is _avant garde_ or virtually non-existent."

She plucked, played with and preened in a black leather jacket, smooth cream-coloured cricket jacket and brightly coloured, long-tailed jacket from the innermost corners of the trunk before heading off into the bowels of the TARDIS once again.

The doctor was taking his time with whatever maintenance he had decided to do.  
Clara's knowledge about the TARDIS' inner-workings was limited but even during his most tedious of tasks, he often begged for company let alone allowed it.

And he never usually took _this_ long.

She turned another corner, finding yet another silver-walled corridor with no doors.  
"Doctor?" the companion called out for the fifth time, only to receive no answer for the fifth time.

Clara exhaled, starting to feel frightened for her dear friend.  
She wished that she hadn't been so dismissive about his earlier behaviour.  
He had seemed so deflated, so listless, so _uncaring_…so unlike the doctor that she knew so well.  
Something about their whole experience with the Weeping Angels had disturbed the doctor and from the start, he had been unwilling to talk about it.

Winding a lock of silky, brown hair around her finger- tight as a spool of thread- Clara placed her free hand upon one of the walls.  
"Alright, TARDIS," she whispered, starting to walk along the wall, trailing her fingertips along the smooth, polished surface. "I know that you care about him as much as I do…and we both know that he is most definitely _not_ alright. So please, help me find him now…so that I can help him…"

No sooner had the words left her lips, her fingers suddenly met the threshold and frame of a fine, oak-wood door.

"I trust that this is it," she whispered, patting the door lightly and moving her hand to the latch. "Thanks, TARDIS."

The room was definitely one that she'd never been in before.  
In an astounding dissimilarity to the corridor outside, the room was dimly lit by yellowish lamp-light with a low ceiling and a soft, thick maroon carpet.

What struck Clara instantly about the room however was that it was packed from floor to ceiling with towering stacks of leather-bound books.  
No bookshelves.  
Just piles upon piles of massive, clumsily stacked books.  
She carefully edged her way inside, doing her absolute utmost to avoid causing an avalanche.

"What is this place?" she wondered. "A library? An archive, maybe? The doctor's sure never showed me this place before."

Before Clara could ponder this any further, she noticed a light source radiating from the deepest part of the room.  
The closer that she got to the glowing light, the quicker Clara came to realise that the light was coming from a glass-bottle lamp. The glass-bottle lamp was set upon a small side-table, which in turn was next to a large, dark green, old-fashioned arm chair.

"Doctor?" she called out quietly, noticing that there was definitely somebody seated in the chair.  
As she neared the furnishings, the occupant of the chair's silhouette became a lot more defined and Clara realised that it definitely _was_ the doctor whom she was looking at.  
She was about to call out again but something about his posture confused her.

It was as though he was sick, his forehead resting on his knuckles, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair and his shoulders hunched.  
It was only when she saw his shoulders start to quake and heard the first of his quiet, anguished sobs that she realised with shock that he was crying.

"Doctor!"  
She quickly hurried over, stooping down to his side, her skin turning cold at the sight of his reddened eyes.

"Clara?!" he exclaimed, abruptly sitting up straight, sniffing and turning his head into his sleeve. "What…what are you doing here?"  
The doctor's fated attempt to be stern failed entirely and his companion knelt down beside him, her hands resting on the arm of the chair.

"Are you alright?" she asked insistently, dodging his accusative question.

"I…" He forced a flippant smile. "Of course, I'm alright. These old books. Dust. Gives me the sniffles."  
"Don't play stupid with me," Clara insisted sharply, shaking her head. "And don't insult both your intelligence and mine, doctor. You're not "alright." You weren't alright at Summer Bank. You weren't alright in Los Angeles or in Cassidy's house. And you haven't been alright since you first remembered who Cassidy Albright was…"

"Clara," the doctor murmured, looking away from her, his voice warbling dangerously "There…there are some things that just aren't work talking about. _Please_…"

"This is obviously worth talking about if it's upsetting you this much!" she returned, kneeling up. "_Please_, talk to me."

The doctor looked down into the earnest eyes of his companion, his own eyes slowly brimming.  
"Clara, there's no need to-…"

"I _want_ to, doctor," she told him, lifting one hand to squeeze his arm. "I want to."  
The young woman gradually knelt up, the folds of her skirt skimming the sides of the chair as her knees pressed into the fronds of the carpet beneath. "I know that there was more to the way you were acting at Summer Bank than just concern for Cassidy…"

The doctor only stared at her for a moment before taking a shaky breath and rubbing his forehead.  
"The last time that I faced the Weeping Angels…I lost something…someone…two someones…two someones who were very dear to me…"

Clara remained silent, simply flattening her palm against the doctor's arm and giving him the chance to speak on. She could feel him shivering beneath her touch but despite her growing concern, she kept quiet.

"Rory and Amy Pond," he went on, his eyes wandering downward again to stare into the distance, as though there was an invisible screen of some kind that only he could see. A faint smile crossed his lips. "Two of the most loyal, brave, _brilliant_ people that you could ever hope to meet…"

Clara had heard him briefly speak of Amy and Rory before. She knew that they were the ones who had travelled with him before her.  
But the doctor had never quite explained in detail what had become of them.

"They…were with you when you encountered the Weeping Angels? You said that they had a hotel in New York…and that they were doing the same thing as in Los Angeles…"

"Winter Quay," the doctor confirmed, nodding and still watching his invisible television screen. "We were in New York City in the present day when they took Rory. We ended up following him back to a block of apartments- another Angels' farm – called Winter Quay. River, Amy and I." His face began to scrunch up from the centre, his nose wrinkling. "I…I'll admit I didn't know what to do…how to stop them at first…all I wanted to do was escape…there were so many people there though." He exhaled. "So many people who needed saving…and Rory's fate seemed sealed too…"

His barely-there smile returned. "But then it was Rory- clever, _clever_ Rory- who figured out what to do."

"The paradox," Clara said aloud, nodding. "Rory figured out that you had to create a paradox."

"Well," the doctor shrugged. "He figured out how to cause one anyway. You see, we saw his older-self die in the hotel that night. Just like how you saw older Abbie pass away." The doctor's voice slowly lost its factual tone and most of its volume. "River and I caught up with Amy and Rory when they were on the roof…Rory wanted them to jump and …Amy wouldn't let him go without her…" He sniffed, giving a soft laugh. "They were so in love…love makes people so crazy…makes them make crazy decisions…do utterly crazy things…"

His companion took a few moments to find her voice and in the doctor's silence, she gently pressed her fingers against his arm, asking quietly.  
"And…after they jumped…they survived, didn't they?"

"The more than survived," the doctor said, in little more than a hoarse whisper. "They won. They created the paradox and came out just as alive as you and I did today." He sniffed again. "I remember being…so happy that they were alright…" Tears began to form in glistening beads at the corner of the doctor's eyes. "But…afterwards…the TARDIS stopped in a cemetery…and while we were outside…" The doctor's voice shattered and he looked downwards, moving both hands to clasp in his lap.

Gingerly, Clara slipped her hand down his arm and came to place it over his hands.  
"…go on."

"A surviving Angel," the doctor told her, tears now sliding down his cheeks. "A surviving Angel from Winter Quay followed us and took Rory. Sent him into the past…" The doctor coughed, his knuckles pulling taut under Clara's touch as his fists clenched in anger. "I try…I try to give every species in the universe a fair chance…but the Weeping Angels as a race are just…_maniacal._ Monsters. Completely unfeeling and constantly driven by sadism and revenge." He took a long breath, apparently trying to steady himself. "We just couldn't go back to get him…it would cause too much of a rift in the time-stream to ever repair…I…" Another tear fell down his cheeks.

"I tried to tell her. I really did…but she just loved him so much…she couldn't bear to go on without him…" The doctor slipped his hands from Clara's grip to run them through his hair. "But I just _couldn't _bear to lose her." He sucked in another breath between his lips, his head in his hands. "She walked right into the arms of the Angel…she looked to me to say goodbye…" The doctor sobs became louder. "And I begged her…I _begged_ her not to…but then…I blinked…and in the blink of an eye…she was gone forever. Gone with Rory." He coughed. "And th-then I saw their n-names on a tombstone epitaph and I…"

The doctor fell quiet, dissolving completely into silent weeping.

Wordlessly, Clara gathered herself to her feet and leaning forward, wrapped her arms around the doctor in a gentle embrace.  
He made no movement at first, going slightly rigid in her arms but eventually moved to return the embrace, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"Summer Bank must have reminded you of everything," she whispered. "You're so strong. Having all those memories and still being able to bring yourself to save Cassidy and Abbie and Stan and everyone in that hotel…"

"I'm not strong," the doctor retorted, coughing and shaking his head. "I'm weak. Old and weak. Here I am. Sitting alone in the dark, breaking my own hearts while reading an old letter that I've read a thousand times…"

"Letter?"

The doctor pulled away from Clara's embrace, bending to pick up a small wooden box that had been set at the foot of the armchair. He opened it and delicately took forth its lonely contents- a page torn from the back of a paperback novel.

He handed the page to his faithful companion- his saviour in more ways than she'd ever truly know- nodding. "Her letter. Her final words to me through a book written by her daughter."

Clara took the page as carefully as she could, squinting to read the black type-face lettering and feeling the weight and warmth of each word wash over her as she read.

**Afterword**, _by Amelia Williams.  
Hello, old friend, and here we are. You and me, on the last page.  
By the time you read these words, Rory and I will be long gone.  
So know that we lived well, and were very happy.  
And above all else, know that we will love you, always. Sometimes I do worry about you, though. I think once we're gone, you won't be coming back here for a while, and you might be alone, which you should never be.  
Don't be alone, Doctor.  
And do one more thing for me. There's a little girl waiting in a garden. She's going to wait a long while, so she's going to need a lot of hope. Go to her. Tell her a story. Tell her that if she's patient, the days are coming that she'll never forget. Tell her she'll go to sea and fight pirates. She'll fall in love with a man who'll wait two-thousand years to keep her safe. Tell her she'll give hope to the greatest painter who ever lived and save a whale in outer space. Tell her this is the story of Amelia Pond. And this is how it ends. _

Clara could feel tears forming in her own eyes, mirroring those of the doctor's- already starting to spill as she looked back up at him.

"I _did_ eventually go back to visit that little girl once or twice," he told her, smiling slightly again despite his evident sorrow. "It just about killed me to see her and to not be able to tell her anything but when I saw that hope sparkling in her eyes like a thousand stars in a thousand galaxies…I knew it was all worth it…" He gave a quiet laugh, wiping his eyes on the back of his cuff. "And I can still see her. Sitting on her suitcase with that stubborn, impatient little pout on her podgy little face. Bright, ginger hair. Offering me fish-fingers and custard if I agreed to stay another hour…" His voice trailed off.

"You're not alone, doctor," Clara said suddenly. "Amy and Rory didn't want you to be alone and you're not." She wiped her own tears.

The doctor exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "It's alright, Clara. In the twilight of my life, I've finally accepted that hermitude just might be something that suits me…"

"But you'll never be alone," his companion insisted. "I mean right now, you've got River. You've got the TARDIS. You've got Madame Vastra and Jenny and Strax…you've got all the people whom you've _ever_ saved. You're a time-traveler! You must be able to understand that somewhere, sometime…there's always someone thinking about you and how wonderful you are. You've touched so many people's lives and those people will never forget you and whether you know it or not, they're with you every day, all the time." She smiled faintly.  
"And you've got me. You'll always have me too."

The doctor was quiet as he very slowly took the letter from her and replaced it in its box, perhaps taking a moment to let her words sink in.  
Then, without warning, he suddenly grabbed his companion in a tight embrace, one hand wrapped firmly around her back and the other coming to entangle in her hair.

"Don't ever change, Clara Oswin Oswald," he told her. "Don't ever change."

"I'm not changing and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon either," she assured him, returning the much-needed hug.

"Good…good…good Gallifrey, how long have I been in here? It must be weeks past lunch-time. We'd better find a good place to stop for a bite…"

She found herself smiling widely as they parted, almost feeling the doctor's usual happiness beginning to return.  
"Just think," Clara decided to point out. "Think of the people who'll be thinking about you after today. Stan and Abbie and Edmund and Cassidy…"

The doctor had been starting to clean up, absent-mindedly poking at a few different books when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turning to face Clara again.  
"Yes…Cassidy," he murmured. "Cassidy."

"Doctor? Is something…the matter?"  
"I just…worry for her…"  
"But why? That Angel is dead…we saw him die…he'll never hurt her again. You said that. Right, doctor?"

"…"

"_Right_, doctor?"

He pressed his lips together, briefly raising a fist to his forehead before looking to his companion.  
"You were right, you know. When you guessed that there was more to Cassidy Albright's story than I was letting on." The doctor sighed. "I just couldn't tell her anything at the time. I had to make her believe that it was all over. If she knew the truth, she could have changed everything. We intervened where we needed to intervene but the rest has to happen without her knowing…"

"The truth? What's the _truth_?"

The doctor beckoned for his companion to follow him from the room filled with books. "Don't ever get me wrong, Clara: I trust you more than anything. There's just a time and place to tell someone something important…so I'll tell you over lunch."

* * *

For Cassidy Albright, the next few days could have been recorded as photographs in her mind. They seemed to string together in barely-linked, surreal incidents, separated by the flashes of a camera.  
Like pictures in a slideshow presentation.

For the most part, she felt as if she had left her body entirely.  
As though she wasn't part of any of it.  
She was just a spectator, watching someone else's life from the outside.  
Someone else whose mother had died while she was away.  
Not her mother.

"_So she won't say anything about where she was?"  
"No. Not a word. Can't get anything out of her…" _

Cassidy knelt in the wet grass at her mother's grave-side, running her fingers over the words embedded in a polished marble tombstone.  
**"Rest in Peace, Maria Albright…" **

It wasn't real to her.  
It felt as though her mother was waiting for her at home, watching _Coronation Street_ on the sofa and drinking tea.  
Not buried under the dirt beneath her knees.

"_Did __**he**__ show up for the funeral?"  
"Cassidy's dad? No. Well, if he did- I didn't see him."  
"He hasn't tried to contact at all?"  
"Not that I'm aware of."  
"…maybe it's better that way."  
"Do you think maybe she ran off to see him?"  
"Cassidy? No. Do you honestly think if she knew where he was, she'd do anything but avoid that location for life?"  
"She's always been strange, though. Even as a child. Unpredictable. Odd." _

Nancy and her aunt Christine stood behind her, watching her every move and whispering to each other.  
She could hear every word of their conversation but she didn't really care what they were saying.  
She didn't think they really cared that she could hear either.  
Her aunt and cousin had been nothing but short and cold to her, following the obligatory sympathies.

They still hated her for "running away" when her mother needed her.  
How could she ever tell them the truth?

"_She's been kneeling there for almost an hour. We should tell her that it's time to go."  
"You can tell her, mum. I don't want to make her cry again. She'll start a scene…" _

Cassidy returned to the museum on Monday, finally having been able to return Curator Stanford's calls.  
Apparently in Hewitt's absence, Edmund had been made the new head of their department.  
Even if she was met by a furious Stanford and several irritated Museum Board members when she walked into the Curator's office, she hoped to get some time alone with Edmund to at least congratulate him before they kicked her out.

And maybe she could talk to Edmund about Summer Bank too.  
Maybe he'd give her courage.  
_He_ wouldn't think she was crazy, above all else.

She passed several museum employees as she walked into the main reception at a quarter past seven on that Monday morning.  
The majority- even the ones that she knew well- avoided eye contact with her, choosing to walk on the opposite side of the corridor to her or simply to pretend that she wasn't there.

Even Leon.  
Though perhaps she should have expected it from him.

Cassidy walked past Omar.  
She offered him a quietly mouthed "hello."  
He responded with a curt nod of the head and kept walking.

Interns and janitorial staff hung around in groups, whispering as she neared Hewitt's office.  
She heard words like "thief", "obsessed" and "insane", as she passed.

When Cassidy entered the Curator's office, she was taken aback to see Stanford, not fuming or furious or even looking remotely angry at her but very plain-faced and flanked by two police officers.

"_Curator Stanford…hello…I…uh…about everything…"  
"Miss Albright, the police would like to take you down to the station to answer a few questions..."  
"I…I don't underst-…what have I done?"  
"You haven't done anything, Miss Albright. This is just regarding your own disappearance. They'd just like to ask a few questions about where you were these past few weeks…"  
_

That was a lie.

No sooner was Cassidy seated in the small, grey interrogation room of the district police station, she was immediately questioned about not her own "disappearance" but the others that had taken place, connected to the museum.

It was all a bit too clear, all of a sudden.  
Stanford had wanted to take the heat off of the museum following the reported missing people and as such, had passed her on to the police as a suspect.  
Not that she could blame him much.  
She _was_ an obvious suspect, after all.

"_She keeps saying that she's forgotten where she was."  
"No one forgets where they were for almost an entire month. Keep on her." _

Her interrogators- a man and a woman- though far from cruel and slightly intimidating, were not all that good at keeping their conversations quiet.  
Cassidy could hear them talking outside the door of the interrogation room.

She stared into the water in the plastic cup placed in front of her.  
She drummed her fingers on the table and watched as miniature ripples began to spread through the pristine surface.

"_I don't understand. Are we treating this kid as a victim or a suspect? As far as we know, she was taken by the unsub too, managed to escape and is now too traumatized to say a word about it…"  
"Things don't match up though. She wasn't taken during the same time-frame as the other victims and her behaviour isn't that of a typical escaped survivor. Not to mention that this business with the disappearing and reappearing statue coinciding with the time that she was reported missing…"  
"So we're back to the art-thief theory? Well, if that's the case- why hasn't she named her accomplices yet? She's got nothing else to lose. And a better question, why did she even come back? What was there to gain from it if the statue was already in her possession?" _

Cassidy found herself looking at the clock on the wall, her eyes following the second-hand and watching its every jerky, ticking little move around the clock face.  
How long were they going to keep her here?

"_What about that girl, Louisa Fitzgerald? People say that those two were close and Albright was one of the last people to be with her before the ambulance was called."  
"I thought she was cleared as a suspect for that? Her testimony says that Fitzgerald collapsed in front of her as though she was having some kind of seizure. The doctors blamed the death on natural causes…some kind of hyper-induced epileptic fit…"  
"But Fitzgerald has no familial history of seizures of any kind. Not to mention the fact that Albright is __**still**__ our only suspect in that case too. I mean all of these events surrounding the museum are too bizarre not to be linked and Albright is in the middle of all of them…" _

They brought her tea, biscuits and sandwiches but Cassidy just couldn't bring herself to eat anything.  
She hadn't eaten much in the last few days.  
She hadn't slept much either.

Cassidy still couldn't believe that they were talking about her being a suspect in her best friend's murder.  
They were saying something about toxicology reports now.  
Talking about them in relation to Louisa. Had she been poisoned?  
Talking about them in relation to Cassidy. Maybe they should check her for drug abuse?

They had already fingerprinted her, photographed her and taken swabs from the inside of her cheeks.  
It was all procedure, they said.  
They hadn't said anything about her needing a lawyer yet, though.

For the next hour, they continued to probe her.  
They asked her about Sybil Darrow, about Ernst Hewitt…

"_So you worked very closely with these people, is that right? Do you have any idea where they might be now?" _

They showed her pictures of people whom she'd had never seen before, asking her to look at every single one individually and never once explaining who they were.

"_Take you time. Just say if you see anyone that looks in any way familiar to you." _

The low light was starting to give her a headache.  
Something hard and blunt felt as though it was pushing against her temples, throbbing and aching.

It was when they started asking questions about her mum that Cassidy truly started to feel sick.

"_Did you know that your mum was admitted to hospital on the 15__th__? Do you have any idea what kinds of medication she was on?" _

Did they think that she had murdered her own mother too?

Something inside her chest had started to hurt and she needed the toilet.  
The more questions that they asked her, the more unstable and frightened that she started to feel.  
The man and woman had previously taken turns questioning her but now they were both sitting at the table opposite her.  
A third officer soon joined them and the questions kept coming.

"_Have you had any kind of contact with Dr Ernst Hewitt?" _

"_Did Louisa Fitzgerald have any financial involvement with you?" _

"_Within the past few weeks, have you taken any form of class A drugs or narcotics?" _

It was third officer who finally asked the question that broke her.

"_Cassidy, we've been told that you had a kind of… fixation on a statue of an angel that was at the museum…" _

Cassidy's stomach pulled tight, her teeth gritting in her too-dry mouth.

"…_now, don't get me wrong or anything- it's more than understandable that you'd be a bit hung up on the statue. After all, it was __**your **__project…" _

Her neck started to feel stiff as she craned forward, her fists clenching in her lap and her breath starting to still in her lungs.

"…_and you did a wonderful job of restoring it. You must have put so much work into it. From what I was told, the statue was beautiful…"_

She started to bite the inside of her mouth as her heart rate escalated.

"…_obviously the statue's vanishing act must be something that you'd know about, Cassidy. You were closest to it anyway. We know how much you care about your work and we're only trying to help out…" _

Her entire body quivered, shaking from her ankles to the nape of her neck.

"…_so what can you tell us about the statue?" _

She opened her mouth.  
She screamed.  
She cried.  
Her speech was completely unintelligible, meshed with ragged, strangled sobs.  
Despite this, she tried her best to tell them what she needed to.

The officers gave her more water, pats on the back, wads of Kleenex.

"_What's the matter with her?"  
"What was she saying?"  
"I don't know…I think I caught something about a…doctor?"  
"She thinks she needs a doctor?"  
"I'm glad we're all agreed on that."_

When Cassidy's senses finally returned to her, she looked up to see a smiling woman walking into the interrogation room. She took a seat opposite her.  
She had frizzy brown hair, large dark eyes and large front teeth.  
She vaguely reminded Cassidy of a humanoid character from _Watership Down._

"Hi there, Cassidy," she said brightly, her smile eerily unfading. "I'm Doctor Emma Collins. The police called for me because they thought that you might like to talk to a doctor. Is that right?"

Cassidy scanned the woman slowly, wiping her eyes with a clump of tissues and finally nodding.

"Right, well, that's what I'm here for. Don't worry, I have a lot of experience with talking to people who've been through traumatic experiences. You can tell me whatever you like. You can take as much time as you need to. And I promise that no matter what you say, I won't repeat anything that you don't want me to…"

Cassidy took a few moments to breathe, to center herself.  
"Alright…"

And truly sick of being confined to silence, she told Dr. Collins everything.  
Dr. Collins wasn't the real doctor that she wanted to speak to but she couldn't bear not being able to tell anyone the truth.

She told the woman everything.  
She told her all about Michael and the Weeping Angels.  
All about Summer Bank and the horrors that she had witnessed there.  
She told her all about the things Michael had done to her and what he had almost succeeded in doing to her.

She finished speaking and Dr. Collins was quiet for a moment.  
Her lip twitched before her smile- the one that had thoroughly faded while Cassidy was speaking- finally returned.

"Ok, Cassidy," she said softly, slowly rising from her seat. "Please excuse me for a moment." She hadn't written anything down while Cassidy had been speaking but she took her clipboard with her, all the same.  
Cassidy could not see Dr. Collins but she could tell from her voice that she wasn't smiling as she spoke to the three officers.

"_Cassidy Albright is an extremely unhinged young woman…" _

Unhinged?  
Was that what she was now?  
Dr. Collins also used words like "delusional" and "borderline insane" to describe her.  
Cassidy quietly wondered if those were really professional terms at all.

The woman officer came back into the interrogation room just a few minutes later.  
Her voice was much gentler than it had before.

"_Alright Cassidy, I'm going to ask you to gather your things and we're going to go…"  
"_Go? You're letting me go home."_  
"…no, Cassidy. Not quite. First we're going to call your cousin Nancy and then we're going to contact your family lawyer…can you give me both numbers?"  
_

* * *

It was truly ironic.

Cassidy Albright had spent weeks wishing for herself to be free from a small, confined room only to finally be placed in another small, confined room only a few days after her liberation.

Mason Vale Rehabilitation Center- a place which specialized in "caring for" victims of psychological breakdowns- was quite the secluded complex, almost three hours outside of London city and much further from Oakside.

Her new bedroom/living space was much smaller than her room in Summer Bank had been.  
It had a single bed, a small wardrobe, cupboard, side-table, desk and chair. There was a personal bathroom with a bath, sink and toilet adjacent to her room but that door was locked. If she needed the toilet, she had to ask for a key.  
There were no windows in the room and the only door had a tiny, wire-laced pane of glass so that the nurses could check on her if they needed to.

The door swung open on Thursday morning at almost seven-thirty on the button.  
"Morning, Cassidy. Come on, rise and shine."

Samantha was the main nurse on her floor.  
Despite her briskness and filter-free banter, Cassidy respected her rule.  
At least there was no, (or at least very little), chance that she'd try to murder Cassidy in her sleep.

"Uhm…do I have any visitors today?"  
"None scheduled. No."  
"Could I maybe call for one?"

She would have liked to talk to Edmund.  
Apparently he had been trying to contact her but the museum staff had refused to disclose any information on where she had been interned.

"You know that's not how it works, Cassidy," Samantha told her sharply, folding back the sheets of the bed and beckoning for her to stand up. "Come on now. Time for your morning bath. I'll give you your medication after that." The woman scowled. "And no hiding it, this time."

Cassidy frowned as Samantha turned away to unlock the bathroom door, pottering around inside and preparing to draw her bath.  
All patients had to take a mandatory anxiety pill with every meal, three times a day.  
The medicine made her feel sick and sluggish, as such she had taken to hiding it in her mouth and spitting it up later but Samantha had found the capsules in her pillow case.

She had been reprimanded for breaking the rules.  
The rules were supposed to help her get better.

The nurses told her when to eat and when to sleep.  
They told her what she was allowed to read and what she was allowed to watch on television.

Cassidy shivered as she sat back down on the bed.  
The room was very cold but she didn't like asking for the heat to be turned up. The sound of Samantha's grumbling reminded her far too much of her mother's irritated ranting about the boiler in their house in Oakside.

Her thin, grey standard-issue pyjamas were far too loose for her liking and they smelled funny but as far as the housing staff were concerned, her personal comforts were of little concern.

And the doctors.  
She _hated_ the doctors.

They regarded her like a wild animal and talked to her like a child.  
They asked her endless questions every day and only ever saw what they wanted to see.

If she told lies, she was being difficult.  
If she told the truth, she was borderline insane.  
If she refused to speak, she was being obstinate.  
If she was happy, she was delusional.  
If she was upset, she was morbidly depressed.  
If she showed no emotion, she needed more medication.

They called her a "typical" trauma case.

"_Your father left when you were eleven? That must have been awful, Cassidy…"  
"…so you were bullied rather savagely in school?"  
"How do you think your mother's illness affected you as a child?" _

Cassidy didn't like being asked about her mother.  
She already saw her mother's tired, grey face every time she closed her eyes and sickening guilt hung over her every second of the day, like a blackened cloud.  
Most nights she didn't sleep at all.  
She just lay awake and terrified.

Her nightmares and night terrors about the Weeping Angels were getting progressively worse.  
Cassidy would dream about Michael.  
She'd dream about pulling back her sheets to find her bed full of thorny roses and looking up to see that murderous Archangel holding her mother's body in his arms.  
And those were the milder dreams.

Regardless of the dream, she would always wake up screaming, shrieking and struggling and the nurses would have to restrain her while she was given an injection.

She sat on her bed, watching as Samantha drew her bath, hugging her knees and starting to cry again.  
She had never been so alone.  
She really had no one anymore.  
There was no way out this time.  
No one to save her.

She had tried calling the doctor.

She had said his name in her prayers until praying seemed futile.

Her life had morphed into a neverending nightmare from which there seemed no escape.

"Cassidy, come on. Bath-time."

She looked up.  
No.  
There was still one escape.

Completely broken beyond repair, she waited for Samantha to leave and without bothering to undress, she made her way over to the bathroom.

She contemplated writing a letter but decided against it.  
There was nothing to explain and she had nobody to write to.

Cassidy wasn't even in control of her own actions anymore.  
All she knew was that her life had been completely destroyed. She didn't want to live out another endless prison sentence.  
She didn't want to be alone.

She just didn't want to go on.

Cassidy climbed into the tub, letting the warm water soak into the cloth of her pyjamas and taking a final deep breath, lay back.  
The water shot up into her nostrils, burning her there.  
The pressure on her chest was unbearable and after a few minutes, her lungs were crying out for air.  
Her limbs began to jerk beneath the water and a familiar feeling of numbness overtook her body.

The water had started to seep into the corner of her lips and the folds of her eyes, stinging her.

"_This is the hard part," s_he told herself. _"Letting go and all. After this, everything is easy."  
_She desperately tried to quell the overwhelming fear that suddenly overcame her. _"Soon it'll all be over. The Angels will never torment me again. Michael will never torment me again. Maybe I'll even seen Louisa and mum again soon…" _

Part of her was trying to cling on to the light but as the darkness slowly fell, this part of her grew weaker and weaker.

"_Maybe I should say a prayer? Mum's favourite prayer? Angels sent by God to guide me, be my light and walk beside me….oh…that's rather ironic…" _

Her oxygen-deprived thoughts became more whimsical as her body slowly began to accept its fate.  
Her lungs collapsed, her brain was slowly shutting down, her heart was starting to slow…almost coming to a stop…

"_Are you dead already Michael?" _

Cassidy Albright was only seconds away from leaving the world, entirely.

Suddenly a pair of colossal arms grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her from the water and shaking her like a ragdoll.  
Just as she lost consciousness, Cassidy heard monstrous voice roaring in her ear.

_"I did NOT give you my permission to die!" _

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed!  
Sorry about the delay and I hope that this chapter isn't a disappointment!  
Thanks again for reading! **

**Just to clarify, the doctor didn't deliberately bring Cassidy home too late.  
That was just a fated accident..Don't worry! All will be well!  
…maybe. **


End file.
